


Whispers In The Dark: Zarry Drabbles II

by StormDancer



Series: One Direction Drabbles [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 50,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Zarry drabbles, AU ideas, and other snippets, originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of some of the Zarry drabbles I've written on Tumblr. Some of them will be long, some short; some won't even be proper drabbles at all, just summaries of what I would write. Mostly unbetaed, so there very well could be some typos, sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Prompt: 'T** _ _**ruly, Madly, Deeply' by One Direction** _

The first thing Harry realizes when he wakes up is he’s not in his bed. It’s a instinctive thing, given ‘his bed’ is a hotel bed, one of the many interchangeable rooms they’ve gone through on many different tours, but he knows. Something’s different.

The second thing he realizes is what’s different. It comes on an inhale, on snuffling sounds Harry isn’t making, on the feel of a body pressing against his chest. Harry doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. He knows the smoky scent, knows the sounds, has traced every inch of the body with his eyes at least. But still, he keeps his eyes closed. It’s a dream. It must be. Or if not a dream, he’s misremembering, because last night can’t have happened, he’s wanted it too much. Maybe he made it happen, maybe his wishing’s brought a pretend Zayn to life in his bed.

He does know that’s ridiculous. But it sounds almost more plausible than actually being in Zayn’s bed, with his arms wrapped around Zayn’s waist. (Huh. When did that happen?) It’s…he’s been trying, clumsily wooing Zayn with what Niall’s been calling ‘endearing misadventures’ and Louis calls ‘being an idiot’, but before last night he hadn’t even thought Zayn had noticed.

Then last night…his arms tighten as he remembers last night, his head tilting forward to bury his nose in Zayn’s hair. Last night he’s keeping to himself. Last night he’s treasuring forever. Last night…he doesn’t know if Zayn was drunk, or just horny and needed to get off, or if (Harry doesn’t dare hope) he wants Harry like Harry wants Zayn. But last night happened. He knows it did. He can feel their bare skin rubbing against each other, can feel the grooves of Zayn’s abs and hips in a way that he didn’t know just from stealing glances for years. Last night happened, and he’s not letting it go.

But what if Zayn wants to? He doesn’t know what last night was to Zayn, because Zayn really is a mystery to him, sometime, a mystery he’s been so desperately trying to solve since he was sixteen. What if he was just taking advantage—no, not taking advantage, Zayn _wouldn’t_ —but what if he saw Harry throwing himself at Zayn, literally and figuratively, and thought it wouldn’t mean anything? What if it didn’t?

Harry tries to get closer to Zayn, but it’s not possible. He thinks he’d break, if it didn’t mean anything. He’d have to leave the band. Or, no, he wouldn’t, but he would break. He’s been in love with Zayn since he was sixteen, and he doesn’t know what his heart breaking for real would mean.

Zayn’s starting to shift, the sort of general antsiness that means he’s waking up, so Harry loosens his grip. What’s he supposed to do? Should he order room service? Should he treat this like any other hook up? Should he escape from the room and pretend this never happened? That might be better than Zayn saying it never happened, than Zayn shaking his head and doing that thing he does where he’s embarrassed where he rubs at his ears and muttering, “Like, so, I guess we shouldn’t tell anyone, right? We can forget, for, like, the good of the band.” Harry might scream if he did that.

But he can’t just leave. That’ll just break everything anyway. So he holds his heart in his hands as he feels Zayn make the long swim up into wakefulness, careful to savor every moment in case he never gets to feel it again.

He can feel when Zayn’s brain starts working, as much as it does in mornings; can feel when he remembers. But there’s no tension, no slow sliding away from Harry. Instead, he just rolls over so Harry’s still touching him, and looks up. His hair is a mess, from sleep and Harry’s fingers his eyes are bleary and his cheeks are flushed with sleep, and Harry just wants, wants this and wants to wake up to this every morning and wants to kiss the sleep from his gaze and wants to bring him breakfast in bed and coddle him until he’s properly awake. Anything, if Zayn will let him.

He tries a smile back, hopefully encouraging and charming and all those things he knows he is when he’s not faced with sleepy morning Zayn.

“Hey,” Zayn says, softly. His voice is rough, a little hoarse. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah?” Harry bites his lip, “I mean, I can leave—”

“Good,” Zayn says, and snuggles closer, nuzzling into Harry’s neck. “Now stop thinking so loudly, I wanna get more sleep.”

It’s not a ‘stay with me forever I love you as much as you love me.’ But, Harry thinks, as he breathes in the scent of Zayn’s hair and pulls him in tighter, it’s enough. Enough for now.  


	2. Chapter 2

_**Prompt: at an artshow; (original post[here](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/post/106458950708/zarry-at-a-artwork-place))**_  

The thing is, Zayn knows Harry hadn’t really wanted to go to the gallery. Oh, he’d been happy to, when Zayn proposed spending a few hours there, but he would never go on his own. He likes art—is always quick to praise Zayn’s new works, will totally wax poetic about the newest thing all the other hipsters are talking about—but he gets bored of it easily. Zayn could wander a museum for hours, admiring the paintings; Harry can’t last nearly as long.

So he’s not really surprised, when after about half an hour of Zayn looking at the paintings in the new exhibit, he’s pretty sure Harry’s not looking at the art anymore. He’s bored. Zayn can understand that. He’s the same, when Harry starts talking about yoga or auras or whatnot. They’ve learned to compromise on it.

“Hey, babe,” he tries. He’d like to stay here at least a little longer, and the best way to do that is to get Harry interested in it. “Did you see this one? It took the artist a full year, doing a square centimeter a day, the plaque said. But look at the brushwork.”

Harry makes an understanding noise, but it’s not enthusiastic. Zayn turns to glance at him. Harry doesn’t bother to pretend he was looking at the painting—he’s just staring at Zayn, that way he gets when it’s almost intimidating, how intensely he’s looking at the person who’s talking. It’d been what had gotten Zayn in the first place, he says sometimes; the way Harry had looked at him like there was nothing more important in the world than Zayn.

“Babe,” Zayn mutters, brushing his hair out of his face. He hadn’t felt like putting it up this morning, kept it loose around his face (of course, Harry had pouted when he’d come out like that, like he did whenever they didn’t match). It always annoyed him like this, kept getting in his eyes. “This is a gallery.”

“So?” Harry grins, dimpling. Zayn’s pretty sure everyone in the gallery is looking at him—partly because he’s talking at full volume, but mainly because he’s Harry, all sleek curls and only partly buttoned shirt and tight jeans and just, magnetism. He loves it, Zayn knows, but it makes Zayn uncomfortable, even if most of the attention on him is Harry’s.

“So, look at the art.” His hair is in his face again; he twitches, but it falls back in.

Harry’s dimples get even deeper.  He reaches out, his fingers brushing over Zayn’s cheek as he tucks the hair back behind Zayn’s ear. “I am.”

Zayn can’t help his smile, just like he can’t help how he ducks his head and looks away from the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “Harry.”

“What?” Harry’s innocent face isn’t fooling anyway. Sometimes Zayn wonders why he loves him. This is not one of those times, as his thumb lingers on Zayn’s cheekbone. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this room.”

Zayn has a feeling they won’t be staying in this gallery much longer.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Prompt: "why is that so hard to understand?"** _

“It’s not hard, it’s just stupid!” Zayn throws his arms up in the air, but Harry’s eyes narrow, his cheeks flushing. 

“It’s stupid that I think he wants in your pants! And I think you should tell him that’s not going to happen! It’s mean, otherwise.” 

“He doesn’t.” Zayn’s own eyes narrow, now. “And anyone, Harry. Why isn’t it going to happen? Because last I checked, this was just fucking around.” 

“I–” Harry’s mouth opens and closes once, then he’s crossing the distance to Zayn, so Zayn’s pinned against the wall and Harry can talk into his lips. “I’ll show you why you shouldn’t waste your time with him,” Harry breathes, and the kiss that comes is hard and breathtaking and Zayn almost, almost forgets that anyone else in the world exists. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Prompt: "I thought you hated me, you always look at me like..."** _

“Like what?” Zayn asks, biting on his lip. He looks…nervous, in a way Harry’s never seen. 

“Like I don’t exist,” Harry mutters. It sounds stupid, to say it like that; they’re in plenty of classes together, he knows Zayn knows he exists. Even if it doesn’t feel like that, when Zayn’s gaze passes over him with barely a halt, when Harry’s never caught staring at Zayn like he is during most classes. 

“I know you exist.”

“Yeah, you must, to ask me to prom, but–you’re asking me to prom?” Harry says again. He can’t wrap his mind around that, still. He’s probably dreaming, but when he pinches himself to make sure it doesn’t change anything. 

“Yeah. I mean, if you don’t want to go, that’s fine, I just, like, I wanted to try–at least once–and–” Zayn bites his lip again, and he’s babbling. Like he thinks Harry will say no. 

“But you don’t like me,” Harry repeats. 

“I do. I just–if I started looking at you, I wasn’t sure I’d stop, you know?” Zayn mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Harry’s grinning, probably stupidly big. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I know how that feels.”


	5. Chapter 5

_**New Year's Eve** _

Zayn’s in a foul mood. He knows it. Louis, who dragged him to this New Year’s Eve party, knows it, because Zayn’s been foul-mooding at him for the last few hours; Liam, whose party it is, knows it, because Zayn hadn’t conceded to any of his attempts to drag him into the party proper; Niall, whose the life of every party, knows it because Zayn wouldn’t do shots with him. Harry doesn’t know it, probably, but that’s because he’s busy paying attention to everyone in the room that isn’t Zayn, which isn’t helping Zayn’s foul mood.

It’s not the only cause for Zayn’s foul mood. He thinks New Year’s a pretty bullshit, anti-climactic holiday to begin with, totally arbitrary and probably made up by the confetti makers or something (and it’s not just because he hasn’t kissed anyone at midnight for years, thank you very much Louis). He also doesn’t like big, loud parties like this in general, prefers smaller things where he knows people and is comfortable with them and doesn’t feel the need to lean against the wall just to limit access to himself.

But yeah. Some of it is Harry. Harry, and this nebulous, undefined thing that’s been floating between them ever since Liam introduced them. Zayn’s just never been quite so confused by a guy before, never felt quite so off-balance, and he doesn’t like it. How one day Harry’s sitting in his lap at a pub, staring at him like the world starts and ends with what he’s saying, and the next he barely nods to Zayn at this New Year’s Eve party and will probably end up kissing someone else at midnight, because Harry’s the kind of guy who’s probably in this nebulous, undefined thing with plenty of other people. Which Zayn knew, all along, but he’d have liked not to see it, really.

Somewhere, someone yells something about champagne, about the count down getting ready. Zayn looks down at his still full glass of champagne. He knows better than to drink on a foul mood, so he’s been nursing it.

When he looks up again, though, Harry’s there, like magic.

“Hey,” he says, grinning. He’s flushed, probably drunk, and his eyes are bright and hectic, and god, he’s everything Zayn wants, with his broad chest and narrow hips and long legs and hair and everything.

“Hey,” Zayn mutters. Harry doesn’t seem to take the ‘foul mood stay away from me’ hint, like everyone else; instead he saunters closer.

“So, I’ve got a New Year’s resolution,” he says, and he’s close enough that Zayn can feel him there, basically. That the whole room has narrowed to Harry’s smiling face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s to stop being a coward, to start being honest about my feelings.” One of Harry’s hands is on the wall next to Zayn. He’d feel pinned, except he doesn’t.

“Gonna confess your deep love for bananas? ‘Cause I think everyone knows that,” Zayn drawls.

Harry just shakes his head. “Not for bananas,” he murmurs, and everyone’s yelling the ten second countdown.

Zayn glances up. Harry’s staring at him like he wants him more than anything, like he can’t see the rest of the party at all. “Then for what?”

“One!” Everyone yells, “Happy New Year!” and Harry leans down and catches Zayn’s lips in a kiss.

It’s sweet, closed mouthed and almost chaste, except for the way it doesn’t feel chaste. Except for how Harry barely pulls away after that moment, only far enough to whisper in Zayn’s ear. “Happy New Year.”

New Year’s still a bullshit holiday. But, “Happy New Year,” Zayn mutters back, and tugs Harry into a real kiss this time.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Prompt: "but you said we could...**_  

have a date night tonight!“ Harry tries not to sound like he’s whining, because he isn’t, but he cleared his schedule for this. With him and Zayn’s busy work schedules, it’s rare they have an uninterrupted few hours together when they aren’t asleep, let alone a whole evening. 

Zayn shrugs, rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I know, babe. I’m sorry. This got dumped on me last minute, and if I don’t have something to present by tomorrow morning I’m fucked.” 

Harry sighs, but he knows Zayn isn’t any happier about it than he is, so he just drops down onto the couch next to Zayn, leans into his side and rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. “Fine,” He concedes, and bites idly at Zayn’s ear. “How can I help?" 


	7. Chapter 7

_**Prompt: "He won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you."** _

“I know.” Zayn tucks his knees up under his chest, and wraps his arms around them, then tips his head over so it’s resting on Niall’s shoulder. “Just. It’s easier to remember that when he’s not saying he’d do you in front of everyone.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Niall bumps against his shoulder bracingly. “No one who’s ever seen him look at you would ever think anyone else has got a chance.” 

“Yeah.” Zayn knows that, he does. He knows how Harry looks at him, how he touches him, how he falls apart under his hands. How he makes him tea in bed sometimes, when Zayn wakes up late; how he’ll cuddle against Zayn’s side as he reads, messing around idly on his phone and whining when he doesn’t pet his hair. “Wish he’d say it, though.” 

Niall shrugs. “You know our Haz. He’s more afraid of commitment than he looks.” 

Zayn gives Niall a level glare at that. “Thanks, telling me how my boyfriend’s afraid of commitment’s really helping, bro." 

"Fuck off.” Niall wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulder, kisses his cheek lightly. Zayn can feel himself relaxing into him. “He loves you. He’ll say it.” 

“Hey!” Harry arrives in a swirl of energy, it feels like, then he’s throwing himself onto the bed on Zayn’s other side. “What are you two up to?” 

Zayn gives Niall a warning look, but Niall knows how to keep a secret. “Nothing,” he replies. “What were you up to?”

“Liam and I went bowling, it was sick.” Somehow, he’s arranged them so Zayn’s leaning on his shoulder, and he’s got his arm around Zayn’s waist. Niall looks very much like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. 

“Sounds fun. Fuck, Harry, what–” he bats at the fingers suddenly digging into his side, before the tickling really starts. 

Harry smiles at him, not quite his blinding grin, something softer, more concerned, like he’s trying to look right into Zayn’s heart and he likes what he sees. “You looked like you were in a funk,” Harry tells him, so sweet Zayn could choke on it. “I wanted to make you smile.” 

“Okay, I’m gone,” Niall announces, sliding off the bed. “You two are the worst. Zayn, stop being an idiot, yeah?” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave, just noses at Zayn’s throat until he’s paying attention to Harry again. “Why are you being an idiot?”

“No reason.” It’s so hard to remember the reason, when Harry’s here next to him, anyway. 

“No.” Harry lets go of Zayn’s waist to frame his face with his hands, make sure Zayn’s looking at him. “You know you can always talk to me, right? You don’t have to go to NIall or anyone. Whatever it is, I’m here." 

"I know.” He does, in this moment. He knows. Until Harry leaves again, until Zayn says it and Harry doesn’t say it back again. “I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

_**Prompt: "Please."** _

“What?” Harry’s bent over his duffel bag, making sure he has everything. Zayn can’t even be distracted by the very nice view of Harry’s ass, because he’s doing his final check, and Zayn knows this routine. It’ll be one more check, then off to wherever he’s off to next, all those brilliant places and people that he wants more than anything here. 

“Just–” Zayn sighs. He knows better than to ask for anything. Harry won’t stay, and he doesn’t have the right to ask for anything anyway. He’s just the boy Harry fucks around with when he’s home and bored, those brief snatches of time before he’s off again. “You could stay a little longer. We could get breakfast.” That’s all he’ll give himself, just how pathetic he’ll let himself be. 

“I’ve got to catch a bus, sorry.” This would be easier if Zayn could see Harry’s face, see how excited he is to leave, but he’s bent over his bag and all Zayn can see is his back. It’s always been like this, since the first time Harry left, right after graduation. Zayn’s never seen the appeal of going, of leaving home, but Harry’s never been able to sit still. “Next time, maybe.” 

“Yeah, next time,” Zayn repeats, muttering it sarcastically to himself. If there will even be a next time. He’s always known that one day Harry won’t bother coming back. 

Harry turns at that, he’s eyebrows drawn together, and why did he always have to be so good at reading Zayn? “Do you not want there to be a next time?” he asks, and if Zayn didn’t know better he’d think he looked nervous. 

“No, I…” Zayn shakes his head. “I do. Just. Wish you’d have time to get breakfast with me.” 

“Me too.” Harry gets up, shoulders his bag. This is where he’d leave, usually, Zayn waiting until he walked out the door to get properly shitfaced and try to forget about how Harry’s lips felt, his skin. But today, he hesitates, then walks to the bed, and before Zayn can react he draws him up into a kiss, long and slow, and Zayn can’t help getting a hand around his neck, to keep him here as long as he can. “Fuck, Zayn,” Harry mutters when they part, their foreheads resting together. “I…” Zayn holds his breath, hoping against hope. But then Harry’s hand drops off his cheek, and Zayn’s breath drains out of him. “I’ve got to go.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, as Harry stands up, getting farther away. “I thought you would.”


	9. Chapter 9

_**Prompt: _ **things you said when you thought I was asleep**_** _

Zayn really is mostly asleep. He’s okay at holding his liquor, but once he’s gone he’s the sort to just pass out, and he’s hit that point. So instead, he’s lying on the couch with his head in Harry’s lap, eyes closed and mainly drifting as people talk over him. It’s nice here, with Harry’s hand on his head, and the scent of Harry all around him. He’d like to fall asleep here. Harry’s just so comfortable, always. 

“Want me to get him to bed?” Liam asks. Zayn thinks about protesting, about pointing out he could get to bed on his own if he wanted his limbs to work, but it sounds hard. And also, he’s not sure his lips are working. 

“No,” Harry says anyway, which is definitely the right answer. Moving is wrong. “I’ll get him up in a bit.”

“You sure?

"Yes,” Harry snaps. Again, Zayn thinks of opening his eyes, making sure Harry’s okay, but his eyelids are so heavy. And then a moment later he can’t because Harry’s hands are tracing over Zayn’s face, how he does so often. 

“You aren’t–he’s asleep, Haz. You know how he is when he’s tired.” 

“And I’m not going to take advantage of that, fucking hell Liam.” Harry doesn’t sound mad anymore, or not really, he just sounds tired. He should go to sleep too, lie down with Zayn because that’s how it’s the most comfortable, when they sleep together. 

“I wasn’t–I was worried about you.” 

“I’m not going to misinterpret anything,” Harry says, softly. “I’m in love, I’m not pathetic.” 

Zayn wants to ask Harry who he’s in love with, because he thinks he’d be interested in that. But his eyelids are heavy and Harry’s so comfortable, and he’s too close to sleep to remember to ask.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Prompt:**_   _ **things you said when you were crying**_

“Yes,” Harry says, and Zayn stutters over his next word. 

“What?” he looks up at Harry. He hadn’t even properly gotten on one knee yet, and he had wanted to. Wanted to do this properly, the big gesture he knew Harry wanted. Sure, it wasn’t in public, because Zayn wanted to keep some things to himself, but there are flowers and candles and an intimate meal and he was trying to do something here. 

But Harry’s just looking at him, his eyes bright–with tears, Zayn realizes. 

“Sorry,” Harry gets out, his voice a little choked, “Were you trying to say something? Please. Go on." 

"Well, not if you’re interrupting,” Zayn retorts, but all the butterflies in his stomach have turned to a joy so big it’s overwhelming. “Maybe I don’t have anything more to say, now." 

” _Zayn_ ,“ Harry whines, but there are still those tears in his eyes, and a few are leaking out, down cheeks that look almost strained with how hard he’s smiling. "Zayn. Finish asking the question, so I can say yes." 


	11. Chapter 11

_**Prompt:** ****things you said at the kitchen table**** ** **(explicit)****_

Zayn’s thighs hits the table first, but he doesn’t even notice, because Harry’s got a hand on his ass and one in his hair and that’s really enough to distract anyone, especially when Harry pushes him back so Zayn’s properly on the table and Harry’s sinking to his knees.

“You know,” Zayn says, his mouth a little dry as he watches Harry fumble with the zipper of his jeans. His lips are already red and swollen from Zayn’s mouth, he wants them around his cock, now. Harry’s so fucking good at that. “We eat here.”

“I’m trying to do that,” Harry retorts. He’s mouthing at Zayn’s cock through his boxers, so it takes Zayn a second to register, then–

“No.” He gets a hand in Harry’s hair, pulls him back. “No, no one who makes a joke like that is allowed anywhere near my dick.”

“You love my jokes,” Harry retorts. He’s grinning, and he licks his lips, shamelessly pressing his head into Zayn’s hand. “And you love me near your cock.”

Neither of these are untrue. “Fine,” Zayn mutters, and lets go of Harry’s head. Harry takes advantage of this to get his mouth on Zayn properly. Before Zayn loses himself in that, though, he has to point out, “But it would have worked better with rimming." 

This time it’s Harry who pulls away from Zayn’s cock, and Zayn moans a little at the loss. "That a request?”

“What? Harry–”

“No, you’re right, it works much better like that.” Harry sits back on his heels, and gives Zayn his most pointed, impatient look. “Turn over and get your pants off, Zayn. I’ve got a joke to follow through on.”

“I really don’t know why I let you anywhere near me,” Zayn complains, but he’s turning over and pushing his jeans down. Jokes or no, Harry’s tongue is nothing to joke about.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said too quietly_ **

“Hey.” Zayn drifts vaguely out of sleep to the feeling of lips on his forehead, of fingers carding through his hair. It makes him smile as he opens his eyes, becuase he knows what it means, and sure enough Harry’s there.

Zayn’s not awake enough for noise, but he mumbles something not even he’s sure what it is, and reaches up to grab at Harry, to bring him back to bed. Harry laughs. “Nah, I’ve got to get the flight to LA. I’ll see you in Australia, okay?”

Even if he’s laughing, his fingers are gentle as he brushes the hair away from Zayn’s face, gentle as they’d been on Zayn’s skin earlier, and the bed is cold without Harry here. Without Harry leaving, like he always does.

Harry smiles when Zayn’s clearly not able to form words, then just brushes his fingers over Zayn’s cheek. “Bye.”

He turns to go. Zayn’s half asleep and the bed’s cold and—“Stay,” he gets out, but it’s muffled in the pillows, and Harry must not have heard because he’s gone.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Prompt: things you said after you kissed me** _

“That wasn’t what I expected." 

Zayn blinks. It brings him out of his daze a little, the daze Harry’s lips and tongue had sent him into. He’s not all the way out, because Harry’s hands are still on his face, and they’re still pressed together in the quiet of the sound booth, but enough that he thinks he should be offended. 

"Pardon me?” he demands, tensing. Harry’s eyes widen. 

“No! It was nice. Very nice. Excellent technique. We should do it a lot more.” Harry smirks a little, presses his closer to Zayn can feel him everywhere. But he’s still got that look in his eyes that isn’t all sex, that’s soft and awed and enough to make butterflies start in stomach. “I just–I didn’t think our first kiss would be like this, you know?" 

"No, I don’t.” Zayn’s still pretty sure he’s as offended as he can be when he’s playing with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “Did you expect a fanfare?" 

"Of course not.” Harry rolls his eyes, like he hadn’t said exactly that at sixteen. “I just always thought–it would be, like, drunk at a club or something." 

Oh. The offense goes away, to be replaced by something almost sad. It had almost been that kiss, a dozen times over, when they were drunk and half a second away from tumbling into a kiss and into bed. "Would you have preferred that?" 

"No.” Harry rests their foreheads together, drops his hands so he can wrap them around Zayn’s waist. “No, this is better." 


	14. Chapter 14

_**Prompt: "Have sex with me, just once more, its all am asking..."** _

“Just sex?” 

“Yes, Zayn. Just sex.” Harry puts on his best pout, but it’s not like Zayn’s ever been able to say no to him, and he’s never been able to resist him either, so he doesn’t throw Harry off when he rolls over, pins Zayn down with his legs on either side of his hips and his hands next to his head. “That’s all this was, right? Just sex.” 

He’s peering down at Zayn, the bravado in his voice leaking out in the corners of his eyes, and Zayn knows what he has to say, for both of them. 

“Yeah,” he lies, and gets a hand in Harry’s hair to pull him down to kiss him roughly, harshly, like he can make it true through the touch of their skin. “Just sex.”


	15. Chapter 15

_**Prompt: "What's a boy like you doing in a place like this?"** _

Zayn grins, and turns so he’s leaning against the bar. “Waiting for someone.” 

He does look like a nice boy tonight, in a sweater Harry’s pretty sure is his with his hair loose around his face. Harry leers appreciatively, and sidles forward, closer to him. “Yeah?” he asks, and tries not to start giggling. “And who’re you waiting for?” 

“My boyfriend,” Zayn replies. He’s much better at this, has a sort of bored but flattered look on like he actually gets in bars when people hit on him. “Jealous bloke too, might want to step away.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Their thighs are pressed together now. “Want to give him a reason to be jealous?”

“Dunno.” Zayn pulls back, bites his lip. He might be pretending to be nervous–but more likely, he knows how crazy it makes Harry, when he draws attention to his lips like that. “He keeps me pretty satisfied.” 

“Just pretty satisfied?” Harry objects, maybe a bit more high pitched than usual. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Haz. Game.” 

“Right.” Harry shakes his head to get himself back in character, then drops his voice down to a low purr, the sort that rumbles out of his chest and that he knows Zayn loves. “Bet I can do better than satisfied.”


	16. Chapter 16

_**Prompt: "Do you ever miss me when you're away? Why won't you ever just let me all the way in?"** _

“I do!” Harry slams the bedroom door behind them, because he doesn’t want fucking Liam to hear. Liam, who lives with Zayn and gets to be here and know about Zayn and gets everything, speaking of missing people. “I do let you in, I tell you everything. Why didn’t you tell me he moved in?” 

“I told you I got a roommate!” Zayn shoots back. He’s leaning against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest, but his shoulders are tense and his jaw is set, and this is not how Harry wanted to spend the week he had in London with his boyfriend before he had to leave. “And you’re the one with all the fucking pictures of you kissing people in Instagram, so don’t even give me any of that.” 

“They’re jokes, and I tell you about them!” Harry retorts. “I don’t keep it a secret that the guy I used to be in love with is living with me now!” 

“That was ten years ago!” Zayn hisses, glancing at the door. “What the fuck, Harry. He’s a friend, and he needed a place to stay.” 

“And you didn’t think maybe that was worth telling me?” 

“Like you tell me everything you get up to.” Zayn runs a hand through his hair, pushes it back off of his face. “Sometimes, I don’t even know why you come back.” 

“Well, you don’t need me, so neither do I.” Harry gestures towards the door. “You’ve got bloody Liam right here for everything.” 

“Don’t bring Liam into this.” Great, now he’s protecting Liam. “And don’t fucking put this on me. You haven’t called in a week.” 

“So you can shack up with an ex?” Harry bites back, his fists clenching to hide how real that fear is. That Zayn will give up on him, still unable to stay still for a moment, and settle down with someone like Liam. “That how it works?”

“He isn’t an ex, he’s my friend. And if you’re so jealous, why didn’t you call?” it’s less anger in Zayn now, more a plea, like Harry’s. “Did you even think of me?” 

“Every second.” It comes out more honest than Harry wanted, but it’s unbidden, ripped from him in desperation, in the horrible soul-eating jealousy that he’s always had when it comes to Liam, to Zayn. “I think about you every second, I miss you every second, and sometimes I don’t call because it’s hard to remember why I’m doing what I’m doing when I know you’re here.”

“Harry.” Zayn lets out a breath, loud enough to fill the room. “That’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to tell your boyfriend.”


	17. Chapter 17

_**Prompt: "Are you looking for my roommate?"** _

“No.” Harry blinks, then, “Or, I don’t know, do you live with Louis Tomlinson?” 

“Yeah. I can get him for you?” the apparition in front of him shrugs, gestures behind him, and Harry has a sudden urge to tackle him and make him never move away. He wasn’t expecting this when he came over to hang out with Louis, but he doesn’t think anything could have prepared him for the most attractive boy he’s ever seen to open the door, looking soft and cuddly and warm in sweatpants and a tank top that shows the tattoos up his arms and collarbone, with his hair loose and messy like he just woke up. Harry wants to hug him and never let go, or maybe taste the ink on his collarbone. 

“Or, I think we were going to stay here?” Harry suggests, grinning his most charming smile. “If it’s not to much bother.” 

“Oh, no, I’ll go to my room, it’s cool.” The guy yawns, covers it up with the back of his hand, and there’s ink there too, that Harry wants to trace every line of. “Come on in, then. Lou!” he yells, as he shuts the door behind Harry. “You’ve got a guest!” 

“Who the fuck–oh, Harry.” Louis nods at him as he wanders out of a hallway. “He’s not a guest, Zayn, he’s Harry,” he tells the guy–Zayn. “Make him tea while I get dressed.” 

“Or you could make him tea while I get dressed,” Zayn retorts, but he rolls his eyes as he heads towards the kitchenette. Harry follows, like he can’t not, like there’s suddenly a string connecting him to Zayn. Zayn glances over his shoulder, like he’s checking if he’s still there, and Harry decides, then and there, that he never wants the string to break.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Prompt: "Just jump in the pool already."** _

“No.” Harry’s managed to get Zayn to the edge of the pool, his feet in, but then Zayn had dug in his metaphorical heels. It’s a pity, because first of all, Zayn really needs to get over his fear of water, and second of all, Zayn looks really good wet and Harry would quire like to be able to appreciate that properly. “No, Harry. I think this is good.” 

“C'mon.” Harry paddles closer, then settles so he’s between Zayn’s legs, can rest a hand on either knee. “It’s fine. You can stand, look!” 

“I know, it’s not that, it’s just…” Zayn trails off, a furrow in his brow. Harry would kiss it away, if he could just get Zayn down here. “I just…”

He’s scared, is what Harry knows he doesn’t want to say. Scared, and without reason, just the mindless fear that gives him nightmares sometimes, so Harry has to roll over to hold him for a change, to cradle Zayn against his chest until he stops shaking. 

“I’ll be here,” he says, quietly, and holds out a hand. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let go.” 

“That’s not exactly a comforting reference,” Zayn retorts, but he puts his hand in Harry’s. “I–you won’t laugh?”

“No laughing,” Harry swears. “The opposite. We can have a reward system.”

“What sort of system?” Zayn asks, and he’s stalling, Harry knows it, but he’ll give it to him. 

“The sort of system where if you got down here, I could kiss you,” Harry replies, laughing at the face Zayn makes, “And we’d be all wet and slippery, and I’ll probably have to hold you up, keep you close…” 

“Fuck you, okay,” Zayn laughs, and cautiously, slowly, he eases himself down. The second his waist hits the water, Harry steps forward, so Zayn can grab at his neck, bury his forehead in Harry’s skin so he doesn’t have to see the water. 

“It’s okay,” Harry murmurs, holding tight onto his hips. “I’ve got you. I really won’t let go.”


	19. Chapter 19

_**Prompt: "Should I call an ambulance?"** _

“Shut up, I can take a cab.” Harry watches, wide-eyed, as Liam runs around the flat, grabbing at things and then putting them down again, while Sophia stands patiently by the door. 

“Are you sure no ambulance?” he asks. Zayn’s finally caught Liam’s arm, and is talking to him, holding him tight how he does when Liam needs to be grounded. 

“Yeah. I’ve read about this, it’s fine. Liam’ll stop panicking–and there we go,” she grins, as Liam nods, and Zayn lets go of him. Louis shoulders a bag, then walks over to Liam, grabs her, and kisses her soundly. 

“We’ve got to go,” he announces, “Can you–”

“We’ll lock up,” Harry assures him, and Liam nods. 

Then, slowly, like the light’s dawning on him, “I’m going to have a baby!”

“Excuse me, you’re going to have a baby?” Sophia demands, as Harry ushers them both out the door. It’s only when they’re gone that Harry sags back against the wall. Well. That had not been what he’d been expecting when coming over tonight. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks, leaning against the wall next to him, close enough their pinkies brush. Harry reaches over, intertwines their fingers. 

“Yeah. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“You wouldn’t say that if you were there.” Zayn shudders. He’d come back from the hospital where Doniya had her first baby looking a little shaken, muttering something about yelling and his hand. 

“So, you don’t want one?” Harry asks, quietly. They haven’t explicitly talked about shit like that, but he’s seen Zayn’s family, seen how he dotes on his cousins. “Or any?”

“What? No. Of course I do.” Zayn smiles softly at Harry, like he’s thinking about it. “Just, I’m really fucking glad I’m not a woman, is all.” 

“You mean you wouldn’t carry my child, Malik?” Harry teases, and Zayn laughs. 

“Not a chance. Now you want to go to the hospital?”

“Yes please!” Harry grins, and tugs Zayn upright. “I bet it’s beautiful.”


	20. Chapter 20

_**Prompt: "You love me." "Fine you love me too then."**_  

“That’s not how it works, Haz.” 

Harry’s eyes widen, and immediately Zayn feels bad. God, he’s so fucking weak for Harry, always has been, lets him get away with whatever he wants just to make him happy. It’s a problem, sometimes, how much he’d let Harry get away with on him, if it would make Harry smile. 

“You saying you don’t love me?” 

Zayn lets out a long breath. “‘Course I do, babe,” he assures Harry, and Harry smiles, big and bright, as he sits down next to Zayn and curls into his arms. “Now what’s the problem I wasn’t listening to?” 

“Well there’s this girl,” Harry explains, and Zayn puts a smile on his face and listens well. He needs to remind himself, that he means love in a very different way than Harry does, and that’s okay. As long as Harry keeps smiling.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Prompt: "Is that my shirt?"** _

“What, this?” Zayn glances down at himself, like he has to check, but Harry knows better. It’s not like anyone else would have a shirt that sheer. “Yeah, thanks mate.”

Harry swallows. He knows it’s nothing; Zayn’s notorious for borrowing the other boys’ clothes. Harry has theories about how half of it’s laziness and half of it is liking to feel comfortable and at home, but none of that much matters now, because why did Harry ever think bringing sheer shirts was a good idea? He likes to wear them, yeah, like the looks they get and how he feels just this edge of naughty, but he should have hid them, so Zayn never got a hold of them. 

He just–he doesn’t know what to think, how to balance the emotions in him. There’s the lust, of course, at Zayn and all that skin, how Harry can just make out the outlines of tattoos, the darker skin around his nipples. But then there’s the fact that they’re out, at a club, and Zayn’s wearing that shirt. His shirt. Using Harry’s shirt to make other people look at him. 

He’s moving before he thinks about it, finding Zayn on the dance floor and grabbing at the shirt to pull him closer. It’s easy to pull; Zayn’s always been slighter than him, so the shirt’s loose. Plenty of room for Harry to get his hands under it, he thinks, as Zayn laughs and rests his hands on Harry’s hips. 

“New plan,” Harry murmurs into his ear, “I don’t think I want you in my shirt.” 

“Yeah?” Zayn chuckles. His hips are swaying to the music, and he’s got that smirk on, the one he does when he knows just how much people want him. “Want me to give it back?” 

“I’ll take it off you, more like,” Harry replies, and tightens his grip. “Somewhere where not everyone can see.”


	22. Chapter 22

_**Prompt: "Like that?"** _

“Yeah, exactly.” Harry lets out a shameless moan as Zayn’s hands dig into the knots of his back. This hadn’t been what he thought Zayn was offering when he volunteered to help with the tension, but he’ll take it. He still gets Zayn’s hands on him and Zayn’s weight across his thighs, where he’s perched to get better leverage. 

Zayn’s just so fucking good with his hands, always has been, and Harry can never keep himself from melting under his touch, each stroke of his hand hitting just the right note between pleasure and pain. And really, of course Harry’s going to get turned on, Zayn’s on top of him feeling up his skin. 

“Think you can go lower?” he murmurs, lazy. Zayn makes an agreeing noise and moves down his spine, onto his lower back. It’s closer, but, “Lower,” Harry suggests, his voice a little hoarse. He knows exactly where he wants Zayn’s hands. 

It takes Zayn a beat, then, “Cheeky,” he chuckles, low and as relaxed as Harry feels. 

“Well?” Harry asks, rolling his hips a little for friction. “You going lower?” 

“Someday I’ll learn to say no to you,” Zayn warns, and maybe he will, but today isn’t that day, and Harry moans happily as Zayn’s hands move lower.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Prompt: "I cant stop thinking about you.** _

“It’s pathetic, I know,” Zayn goes on. He kicks his feet up on the table, kicking away some of the knives there, so he can better swig at the whiskey bottle and look up at the pedestal. “I’m so lonely that I can’t stop thinking about my own bloody statue.” he takes another drink. The statue, unsurprisingly, says nothing. 

“But you’re better company than anyone out there, right?” God, now he’s actually talking to it. It would be easier, maybe, if this wasn’t his masterpiece, if he hadn’t poured his heart and soul into every line of the boy, his Botticelli cheeks and curls, the broad shoulders and narrow hips. But this statue is beauty, his beauty, and it’s right there, smiling at him with that hint of mischief that had come, unbidden, to his mouth. “At least you listen, when I talk.”

He pushes his hair back from his face. It probably needs a wash, but that sounds like too much effort, usually, effort that could be better put in marble. “I just, can’t stop thinking what you’d be like. Would you be funny? Or clever? Would you laugh at me? Would you like dogs?” 

He drops his head into his head, and because it’s quiet in the studio this late, because he’s drunk and hurting, he asks the question beneath it all. “Would you want me, as I am?” It comes out on a sob, of loneliness and heartache. 

“Oh, Zayn.” There are hands on his cheeks, suddenly, warm flesh hands, and his head is tilted upwards into a face he knows, that he carved, suddenly flushed with life, eyes sparkling a green he didn’t know existed, lips in a broad, caring smile he didn’t put there. “Oh course I do.”


	24. Chapter 24

_**Prompt: "What are you doing?"** _

Zayn dives across the kitchen, so he can cover the evidence with his body. “Nothing!” 

“Nothing?” Harry drops his bag, and edges into the kitchen. “Are you baking?”

“No,” Zayn replies, quickly and firmly. He makes a quick assessment of the situation, but there’s no real way to salvage this, to get Harry not to notice the detritus still left around the kitchen, so he decides to go on the offensive. “What are you doing home? I thought you were going to be out all day.”

“Yoga was cancelled.” Harry glances around, then focuses on Zayn’s face. He’s always been able to see right through Zayn, but Zayn sets his face into its most imperturbable, mysterious expression. “You sure everything’s okay?” 

“Yes.” Aggression isn’t working, it’s time for phase two: Distraction. “Have I ever told you how good you look in those pants?” 

Harry glances at his sweatpants, and his lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, really gets me going.” Zayn moves quickly, gets his arms around Harry, walking him backwards. “Let me show you how much.” 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with how it’s my birthday tomorrow, would it?” Harry asks, laughing as Zayn herds him out the door, peppering kisses down his neck.

“Not at all,” Zayn lies, completely unrepentant, and kisses Harry again, pushing him down on the bed. He needs to tire him out enough he won’t notice the oven timer going out. It’s a tough job, but he’s never shirked from his boyfriendly duty.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Prompt: "Shh I just put her down for a nap don't wake her"** _

“It’s okay.” Harry grins as he pads forward, so he can wrap an arm around Zayn’s waist and hook his chin over his shoulder. “Like her dad, isn’t she? Can sleep through anything.” 

“Let’s not risk it, though.” Zayn yawns, and sags back against Harry. He’d bee on duty tonight, and he’s never been good without at least six hours, so Harry catches him and presses a sympathetic kiss to his temple. Zayn hums, leans his head against Harry’s. “God,” he says, looking down at the tiny little girl in the crib. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” 

“Like I said.” Harry squeezes Zayn’s waist tighter. “Just like her dad.” 


	26. Chapter 26

**_Prompt: "I don't hate you, I just hate the decisions you make sometimes."_ **

“What does that mean?” Zayn snaps. Harry watches from the bed as he rolls away from Harry, gets to his feet to pace. It’d make a beautiful picture, Harry can’t help but think, Zayn with the moonlight bathing him from the windows, naked so every muscle is outlined. 

“It means I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself.” Harry gets out of bed too, so he can grab the cigarette out of Zayn’s fingers before he puts it to his lips. “And I wish you had healthier coping mechanisms for stress than smoking and drinking and—”

“Fucking you?” Zayn finishes for him, when Harry would stop. “Is that what you mean? That you want this to stop?” 

“No.” No, Harry doesn’t mean that. He should, for both their sakes, but he doesn’t want it, not when he’s never felt more than when he’s inside Zayn, when he’s never quite felt more treasured than when Zayn trails surprisingly gentle fingers over his ass and thighs, tracing him like he’s never seen anything like him. “No, just—you need to deal with everything sometime.” 

“I am dealing with it.” Zayn grabs the cigarette out of Harry’s hand, but he just throws it to the floor, then wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and tugs until Harry curls down to meet him. It’s not dealing with it at all, he knows, but he can’t stop himself from kissing Zayn back, then from getting his hands on him and carrying him back to bed, where maybe he can at least exhaust him enough to sleep for a few hours, before he starts this over again. 


	27. Chapter 27

_**Prompt: "I do."** _

Harry can see how Liam’s tearing up as he says the words, and he holds back his grin. He might be tearing up a little, too. It’s just so lovely, the wedding and how Liam looks at his wife, and most of all the boy standing next to him. Zayn’s always looked sinful in a tux, but something about this is worse, knowing it’s a wedding tux. Even if it’s just a best man’s tux. 

Zayn catches his eye, and there’s wetness there too, Harry knows, no matter if Zayn tries to deny it. Zayn reaches out, and Harry takes his hand, intertwines their fingers as they watch their best friend get married. When Zayn squeezes his hand, it’s not a promise, Harry knows, not really the question he’s hoping will come soon. But it feels like it could be. Like a “us next.” Like a vow.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Prompt: “If you liked it then you shoulda bit a ring on it.”** _

“That’s not even the lyric!” Harry laughs, throwing popcorn. Zayn doesn’t bother dodging, just collapses on the couch next to him. He’s probably a tad too close, but it’s summer and they’re at a party and he’s drunk on that, and on the vodka that was all Niall could get his hands on, and he feels like a cuddle. 

“Shut up, I did the dance. Now, Harry.” Louis’s gasp is loud and theatrical, and Zayn flips his general direction off. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Harry replies, the word dripping off his tongue, his eyes dancing. He’s so close to Zayn like this, his lips stained pink with the cranberry juice they’ve been using as a mixer. 

_Kiss me_ , Zayn thinks, sudden and overwhelming, a crash of knowledge he didn’t know he’d been avoiding until now, how much he wanted Harry to lean in and kiss him right now. 

“Um, go–like, run around the house naked,” he stammers out, first thing he can come up with, and ignores the boos from everyone else in the circle, just as he tries to ignore how Harry grins and gets up from the couch, his fingers at the buttons of his shirt. Why did he have to know that now?


	29. Chapter 29

_**Prompt: "Did you honestly bring a puppy home?"** _

“Yes?” Zayn gives Harry a hopeful smile, then goes back to beaming at the golden retriever puppy who’s currently trying to tug a rope out of Zayn’s hand. 

“Zayn.” It’s really hard to be stern in the face of Zayn and puppies, because it’s just about the most adorable thing Harry’s ever seen, but someone has to be. 

“I know.” Zayn gathers the puppy up on his lap. “But there was a drive, at the mall, and he was there, and–just look at him, Harry!” He laughs delightedly as the puppy starts licking over his face madly. “Please?” 

Harry sighs, but he knew he lost this battle when Zayn looked at him with those big, pleading eyes. He likes dogs, he figures. And he loves Zayn. “Okay,” he agrees, and Zayn’s grin could light up a room.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Prompt: "Did you key my car mate?"** _

“Um.” Harry glances at the Subaru, then at the key in his hand, then at the guy glaring at him. “No?”

“No?” he repeats, quiet in the sort of way that’s worse than yelling. “So my car has a scratch in it because–”

“It wasn’t–it was supposed to be someone else’s!” Harry gets out quickly. “I’ll pay for the damages, I swear, it’s just the same car as my ex and it was supposed to be cathartic and now it’s such a mess and–”

“So you keyed my car…by accident?” The guy says, more slowly. Harry nods, and glances hopefully at him. God, he’s really good looking, too. That just makes everything worse. 

“Sorry? LIke i said, I’ll pay for it to be fixed.” 

The guy runs a hand back through thick dark hair. “Okay. But, like–if you’re going to key a car, don’t hold it like that.” Harry’s mouth drops, as the guy reaches over, switches his grip on the key. “It’ll work much better like that. Be deeper.” 

“Um–thanks?” He’s so confused. He never should have listened to Louis’s get even lecture in the first place. 

The guy grins, and god that’s pretty. “You seem like a nice guy, your ex probably deserves it.” 

“You should give me your number,” Harry blurts out, when it looks like the guy is backing away, probably to get in his car. “You know,” he goes on, when the guy raises his eyebrows at him, “For me to get your car fixed.” 

“Right.” the guy’s lips curve, and the fact that he looks like he knows exactly what Harry’s doing just makes it better.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Prompt: "It's too early for this."** _

“Yeah? You want to go back to sleep?” Harry purrs. He’s not even pretending to be coy–his hand’s already making it’s way down Zayn’s stomach and into his boxers. 

Zayn doesn’t open his eyes, but he can tell it’s not light out. “Yes,” he mutters, but it’s a little drowned in the breath he lets out as Harry’s hand closes around his cock. “Fuck, Harry.” 

“I mean, if you’re too tired, we don’t have to,” Harry goes on, and Zayn doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking. “We’ll be busy all day and then I’m on a plane to LA, but you could definitely go back to sleep.” 

“Shut up.” Zayn opens his eyes just long enough to get a hold of Harry’s shirt and yank him in to kiss him properly. “I’ll show you too tired." 

"No, really, we don’t–” Harry’s cut off by Zayn’s lips, and then he’s just laughing into his mouth because he’s the worst little tease in the world and god, Zayn’s glad he didn’t miss this.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Prompt: "Is it gluten free?"** _

“No, we mark the gluten free foods with a green dot, see?” the boy at the counter tells the woman, much more patiently than Zayn would be after the fifteenth time she asked. Much more patiently than Zayn is, period, because he really needs his coffee. “So the scone isn’t, but this muffin is.”

“Hm,” the woman muses. Zayn manages not to sigh, or so he thinks, but the boy at the counter glances up over her shoulder and meets his gaze. His eyes are really green. It’s not entirely the first time Zayn’s noticed this, because he’s been coming to this cafe for a while and this barista’s often there, but wow. “Okay, I’ll have the cake, then.” 

Finally. Zayn rolls his eyes at he ground, then shuffles forward as she finally pays and leaves. “Sorry about that,” The boys says, as he gets to the counter. 

“Nah.” Zayn shrugs. “I was just impressed, really. I’d have yelled.” 

“Doubt it,” the boy–Harry, his nametag says–shakes his head. “I’ve seen you help an old lady across a street.” 

“You have?” There was once–but he was in a good mood, and it had been two months ago, and not near the cafe at all, and now Harry was blushing and it was really cute. 

“I mean–not that I’m stalking you or anything, I just saw you. And you’re pretty hard to miss.” Great, now Zayn’s blushing, in front of one of the hottest boys he’s ever met. “So I don’t think you’d yell.”

“You don’t know me, though,” Zayn points out. 

“Well.” Dimples appear in Harry’s cheeks, and really that’s just unfair. “I could." 


	33. Chapter 33

_**Prompt: "Just once."** _

“Don’t.” Zayn’s eyes are wide and dark, as Harry steps forward, and he backs away, his back almost against the wall. “Haz, don’t do this.” 

“Why not?” Zayn’s back hits the wall, and Harry keeps going, so he can be pressed close. He’s wanted this for so long, and he knows Zayn has too. Sure, he’s drunk, but that just means he’s going for something he should have gone for a long time ago. “We want this, Zayn.” 

“We both know it won’t be just once.” Zayn’s hands are on Harry’s shoulders, but it’s not clear if they’re there to push him away or pull him closer. “And then–this can’t end well.” 

“I don’t care,” Harry says, and he means it. In that moment, with him and Zayn pressed so close together, with his face close enough to Zayn’s he can count his eyelashes, he doesn’t care. “I just want it to start.”


	34. Chapter 34

_**Prompt: "You want to break up?"** _

Harry stumbles backwards, his legs hitting the bed so he falls down on it. “Why?”

“Not really, but…” Zayn tugs at his hair. It’s not right that Zayn looks like this, that he looks sad and broken, when Harry’s heart just got stabbed through. “I don’t want to, like, pin you down.” 

“Pin me down?” Harry echoes, “But–what?” He doesn’t understand. He thought he’d be coming home from LA to his boyfriend, coming home to kiss Zayn and relearn all the lines of his body like he always does. Not to Zayn’s sad face and horrible words. 

“I–I mean, you’re always going places, and meeting all these people, and I don’t want…” Zayn shakes his head, like he does when he’s at a loss for words. “I don’t want to stop you from doing what you want.” 

“But you’re what I want!” Harry protests. 

“Am I?” Zayn asks, and it’s a question Harry never thought he’d need to answer. But there’s a question in it that’s one they’ve been avoiding since they started, with Harry’s traveling. “Am I always?" 

"Always,” Harry swears, frantic, “Always, Zayn. I promise.”

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

_**Prompt: "You're in a car with a beautiful boy...** _

"What are you planning to do?“ Harry asks, grinning his cheekiest grin. He’s even very considerately pulled off onto a little turn-off, where no one will be. It’s the most privacy they’re going to get, with both their families so happy they’re home. 

"Am I?’ Zayn makes a big deal of looking around. "Where?” 

“Zayn,” Harry whines, even as he giggles and elbows him. “Well?” 

“Well what?” 

Zayn can be such a little shit sometimes. Harry huffs out a breath, then unbuckles his seatbelt and clambers into the back, which conveniently gives Zayn a nice view of his ass. He arranges himself on the backseat, one leg bent at the knee, the other falling down at the side, so there’s a nice place for Zayn in between, preferably on his cock. 

“Are you coming?” he demands, licking his lips, and Zayn doesn’t waste a second getting over the seats either. Some other beautiful boy, his ass, Harry chuckles to himself, as he grabs at Zayn’s shoulders to pull him in. He’s got the most beautiful boy in the world right here. 


	36. Chapter 36

_**Prompt: "Don't mind my t-shirt, it's just water."** _

“No, I really am sorry,” Harry gets out. Of course he’d spill a drink on the hottest guy in the room. He’s lucky it is just water, but still. That wasn’t how he’d wanted to get his attention. “Do you want my shirt? We can trade.”

The guy glances at Harry’s shirt, which is one of his favorites, covered with pink flamingos, then down at his own plain white shirt. Which is, wow, sort of see-through with the water on it. There’s definitely ink under there. And muscles. Okay. “Um. That’s really okay.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “Least I can do, to make up for being a klutz.”

The guy gives a little smile, almost a smirk, and oh. Okay, Harry’s good with that too. If this is what it took to get his attention, Harry’s happy. “Don’t think I could pull it off.”

“Bet you could pull off anything,” Harry replies, grinning back. Then he leans forward, like he’s telling a secret. “Really, I’m saving you.”

“Oh?” The guy’s still got that little smile on. “From what?”

“From how everyone’s going to be mobbing you, now.”

“Oh? Why?”

Harry gives him a confused look. “Because mate, don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your t-shirt’s turned see through.”

“And you’re willing to wear that?” the guy counters. “Willing to take on the mobs?”

“Oh, I’m used to it,” Harry assures him. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you are.” The guy’s tongue flicks out, wets his lips. Harry doesn’t pretend he’s not watching. “Or you could just stick around, protect me that way.”

Harry grins, making sure his dimples are showing. “I could do that,” he agrees. “Just in case.”  


	37. Chapter 37

_**Prompt: "Don't look at me like that, I'm serious!"** _

“Serious?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes at Zayn. It’s a weird role reversal—the expression he feels on his own face is usually the one Zayn gives him. But he thinks it’s merited. “For real?”

“Yeah.” Zayn tilts his chair back onto the back two legs, like this is a perfectly casual thing to propose to the guy you’ve been fuckbuddies with for a year. “Feels like time, doesn’t it?”

“Time.” Harry repeats. “For us to move in together?”

“Well, both our leases are up next month.” Zayn shrugs. “Seems logical.”

Harry’s still not really processing. Maybe he’s dreaming? He must be dreaming. Zayn doesn’t propose things like moving in together except when he’s dreaming. It’s not—that’s not what they _do_. They fuck when they’re horny, hang out when they’re not, and maybe Harry likes Zayn more than anyone else he’s ever met, and maybe he thinks he’ll never get tired of his skin and cock and pretty pretty face and the way he laughs and how he sometimes tries to cook and messes up Harry’s kitchen and how they talk in the afterglow—or sometimes without the sex—about anything at all, in the dark of the night. But they aren’t this.

Harry pinches himself, but no, that hurts, and Zayn’s still just looking at him, little furrows starting to form between his eyebrows like Harry’s hesitation is hurting him.

“I mean,” Zayn goes on, faster now, and he glances down at his hands. “We don’t have to. It was just an idea. I thought it could work.”

Harry opens his mouth, closes it again, but no, he has to ask. “Zayn,” he says, and Zayn looks up, so hopeful, and god, Harry wishes he didn’t melt whenever Zayn looked at him like that, like he was the sun and the stars and everything else besides. “Zayn, we aren’t dating.”

The chair thumps down, and oh shit, now Zayn’s eyes are narrowing, his whole face going sharp and angry. “The fuck?” he snaps.

“What do you mean, the fuck? We aren’t dating, Zayn. You don’t move in with fuck buddies.”

“Fuck buddies?” Zayn repeats, dangerously soft.

“Yeah. You know, what we are?” Harry’s very, very confused. Why is Zayn looking at him like that, like he’s torn between anger and bewilderment and hurt? He’s stating facts. Zayn’s the one being weird.

“Oh.” The chair scrapes against the linoleum as Zayn pushes to his feet. “Oh, okay. I’ve got to go.”

“What?” Harry gets to his feet too, grabs at Zayn’s arm. “You don’t have to go, what’s up?”

“Well, apparently we’re fuck buddies, and we fucked, so I should go now, right? Fuck all the other people I’m fuck buddies with.” Zayn tries to pull his arm away, but Harry holds on. Zayn’s still spitting fire but it’s in the way he gets when he’s decided the best defense is a good offense. And it is a good offense, because that’s something Harry tries very hard not to think about, that Zayn might be fucking other people.

But he holds on, because he can hear the hurt beneath it all, and he hates Zayn being hurt, and he doesn’t want Zayn to leave here hurt because who knows if he’d come back. “Zayn. What—”

“So how many other people have you been fucking?” Zayn spits, and that almost knocks Harry back, but he still holds on. Even if,

“Well, I mean, no one,” he admits. What he doesn’t admit is it’s because how no one measures up to Zayn. That given a choice between giving Zayn a booty call and hooking up with anyone else, there’s no question. “What is up with you, Zayn?”

“Nothing.” Zayn’s chin tilts up, and his shoulders are set like he’s braced for a blow. “We just appear to have different definitions of dating, that’s all.”

Harry’s grip loosens in shock, and Zayn pulls away for real. “Call me next time you want a fuck, Styles,” Zayn throws at him. “Since I guess that’s what we’re doing.” Then he’s storming out the door, and Harry can only stare after him.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Prompt: "Please don't go, Zayn."** _

“I have to.” Zayn turns back, to see Harry hurrying up to him. He must have slipped out of court just as Zayn left. The king won’t be pleased about that. Not that Harry’s ever cared about propriety, Zayn thinks fondly, before remembering he shouldn’t think that. Not about his prince.

“No, you don’t.” Harry insists, catching up to Zayn. He looks so lovely in his full court gear, his breeches tight to his thighs, his doublet a rich green that brings out his eyes. Lovely and young and naïve, in a way Zayn hasn’t been since he started questing. “I could get the order rescinded. Get you assigned here.”

“Harry—”

“It’s a suicide mission!” Harry cries, and the sound echoes around the stone walls. Zayn huffs out a breath, then tugs at Harry’s hand until he follows him into the nearest chamber. At least they can pretend to be discreet. “He’s sending you off to die! Because he knows how I feel about you, and he wants you out of the way, and I—I can’t—”

He ends stuttering, blinking back tears, and Zayn could almost smile. “I know.” He does. He knows all of that is true, that the king has never approved of his youngest son’s fondness for a lowborn knight, that this is his way of nipping that in the bud. He understands, even. Harry is not for Zayn, he never has been. Maybe, if Zayn was a lord—if he wasn’t barely more than common—“But I still have to go.”

“No you don’t.” Harry lifts his head, his jaw set, and for a second Zayn sees the lord he will someday be. “We can stop, I’ll marry who he pleases, but you will not die for this.”

“I won’t,” Zayn agrees. No one is around; he dares to step forward, to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. His glove looks rough, ungainly against Harry’s silk, but Harry, as always, looks at him like that doesn’t matter. “I won’t, Harry. I’m not planning to die.”

“But—”

“I will slay the dragon,” Zayn declares. He wishes he really was this confident, but he knows Harry needs to hear this. And maybe—if he does—that’s worth a lordship, maybe. Worth enough respect that maybe the king won’t look at him with so much disfavor, that maybe he’ll be seen as worthy. “I’ll slay the dragon, Harry. And I’ll come back to you.”

“You better.” Harry’s fingers don’t falter as he reaches up, unties the scarf that’s been holding back his hair. He’s gotten control of himself, Zayn can see, but there’s still the fear in the depths of his gaze, and Zayn knows it’s echoed in his.

His hair falls around his face as he draws the scarf away. “Go then,” Harry says, voice even, and he holds out the scarf to Zayn. “With my best wishes.”

The scarf is red, red as blood in Zayn’s hand, but he closes his fist tight around it, brings his hand to his heart. “Yes, my lord.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “I expect that back. It’s my favorite.”

“Your wish is my command.” Zayn hopes, oh he hopes. He bows, then turns to leave Harry, his prince’s favor still clenched in his fist like a promise.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Prompt: "I don't wanna talk to him, he's weird."** _

“That’s not a good reason not to talk to someone, love,” Harry argues, crouching down so he can look Mary in the eye. Her jaw’s set, like his gets sometimes, but the glare is all her own. “Doesn’t he look lonely? I bet he wants a friend.”  

She gives a skeptical look across the room at the boy there, who’s coloring with great concentration. “I don’t think so. He’s weird, daddy! Can’t I stay with you and baba?”

“We’re going to be boring,” Harry warns. “I think you’ll have a lot more fun with someone you’re age.”

“I don’t think so,” she replies surely. Harry lets out a long breath. He’d really been looking forward to being able to have a glass of wine at a friend’s wedding reception, not have to deal with a stubborn daughter. “I always have fun with you.” She smiles up at him, and Harry can feel himself melting, always a sucker for her flattery, as much as he is for her father.

“Mary—”

“He does look weird.” There’s a hand on his back suddenly, and Harry twists to look up at Zayn. Zayn, who’s looking breathtakingly good in his suit, and Harry had wanted to properly appreciate that too. What’s the point of a wedding if you can’t properly appreciate your own husband?

“Zayn,” he warns, but Zayn shakes his head minutely, crouching down next to Harry.

“But you know what? Weird people are usually the coolest,” Zayn goes on, very seriously. Mary’s looking skeptically at him, but it’s hard to stand up to Zayn’s serious  look. “I’m pretty weird too, and so is daddy.”

“Hey!” Harry protests, trying to hide a smile, but Zayn just pats his hip absently.

“And you know what? The first time I saw your daddy, I thought he was weird too,” he tells Mary, who’s nodding like that’s obvious, which, thanks. “But then I talked to him, and I got a best friend out of it. So you might get a best friend too!”

“Really?” Mary still looks skeptical, but she’s softening.

“Really.” Zayn nods solemnly. “You won’t know unless you try.”

“Okay.” She heaves a sigh, like she’s being horribly put upon, but she spins on her heel and bustles over to the boy, flopping down next to him and commandeering his crayon. There seems to be a little negotiation, but within minutes they’re happily coloring together, and Harry and Zayn stand up.

“So.” Harry turns to Zayn, slides a hand onto his waist. “You thought I was weird?”

“You were weird, Haz,” Zayn replies, without missing a beat. His hand’s on Harry’s hip, and he’s smiling softly, nostalgically. “You are.”

“Any regrets talking to the weird kid?” Harry steps closer, to he can get both his hands on Zayn. They’re far away from the dance floor, but he can still hear the music, start them swaying. You’re allowed to be sappy at weddings, he figures.

“Never.” It’s Zayn’s serious voice, and, well, Harry’s never not believed that voice. So he has to kiss him, to the wedding music all around them, with their daughter playing in the background.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Prompt: "I don't need your help, mate" "And I don't need your permission sir."** _

“Oh, I’m a sir now? I’ve always fancied being knighted.” Harry grins his most charming grin, but the boy on the ground doesn’t smile like he’s supposed to. That may, Harry admits, be because of the gash in his shin, bleeding enough that Harry’s a little worried. “No, but really. I’m a doctor–well, I’m studying to be one. I can help.”

“It’s fine,” the boy grits out. He pushes off the ground–bites his lip like he’s swallowing back a sound of pain, but he gets to his feet anyway. “So, you can go back to what you were doing.” 

“Oh, I was just admiring all you skateboarders,” Harry answers easily. It’s a bit of a lie, because really Harry happened to be waiting for Niall next to the skatepark, but it’s close enough. He was watching them. He was watching this one in particular, maybe, because he’s really fucking hot and there was something about how he moved, an understated confidence that just drew Harry’s eyes. “You probably need stitches.” 

“I’ll be fine,” the boy insists. “I’ll go home, bandage it up. Don’t need your help.”

“Trust me, I’ve fallen enough. That looks nasty.” Harry crouches down to get a look. It does look nasty, and really Harry doesn’t think he should be standing at all. “Come on, I’ve got a car. I can drive you to the A&E.” 

“I’m not getting in a car with a stranger!” he protests. Which, fair point, though Harry’s pretty sure he can’t be much older than the boy, if he’s older at all. “So fuck off, mate. Don’t need your help.” 

“Okay then.” Harry stands back up, steps away and crosses his arms skeptically, like he sometimes does with stubborn patients. Who are usually kids, but it works with adults, too. “I’m sure you’re fine to skate home, then?”

“Yes.” The boy agrees, and takes a step. He barely gets any weight on his leg before he’s swearing. “Fucking hell.” 

“See? Look, you can text a picture of me and my car to whoever, I’ll show you my license. I just really want to get you to a hospital.” 

“Why?” There’s something a little sad in the boy’s wariness, like he’s never been given anything for free. Like other men have asked him into cars for less savory reasons. 

“Because I take the whole doctor thing seriously,” Harry replies. That gets him an even more suspicious look, and, fair. He’s not exactly telling the whole truth, even though he does just want to help him. “And because you’re really hot, and it’ll give me time for my charm to win you over.” 

That gets a snort. “See?” Harry grins. “It’s working already. By the time we get to the hospital, we’ll be best friends, promise.” 

“Doubt that,” the boy mutters, but he sticks out his hand. “’m Zayn.” 

“Harry,” Harry replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Now let’s get your leg looked at before you bleed to death, okay?” 

“Fine.” Zayn’s eyes stay narrowed, suspicious, but something about him’s relaxed a little. “But I’ll take those pictures, yeah?” 

“Can’t be too careful,” Harry agrees, and gives Zayn’s phone a big smile before he moves slowly closer to help him to his car.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Prompt: "Why are you upset?"** _

“I’m not upset.” Harry very deliberately places his book onto the couch next to him. “Why would you think I’m upset?” 

“You’re upset, Harry, don’t even give me that,” Zayn snaps back. He knows what Harry looks like when he’s being upset and passive aggressive, and this is it. “What did I do now?” 

Harry’s eyes flare at that, but he takes a deep breath, calms himself. “I’m not upset, Zayn. I told you.” 

“Oh, fuck that.” Zayn rolls his eyes. God, he hates this about Harry, how he just won’t fucking say what’s wrong. “What did I do? Did I forget to take out the trash? Because I’m sorry that I was in a rush this morning to get to work–” 

“Oh, I took out the trash. I didn’t expect you to remember.” Harry’s playing with his hair now. It’s not cute. Well, sometimes it is, but not now. “I was maybe hoping you might have learned to respect our home, but I didn’t expect it.”

“Respect our–I forgot to take out the trash! It barely needed taking out! I was going to do it this evening when I got home, except now you’re in a strop about it!” 

“I’m in a strop? I’m not the one yelling.” 

Zayn lets out a frustrated breath, then storms past Harry, into the bedroom. He slams the door pointedly, strips out of his work clothes and pulls on sweatpants, then throws himself onto the bed. He hadn’t expected this shit, when he and Harry moved in together. He loves his boyfriend, he does but–somehow habits that were cute are getting annoying now, starting to drag on his nerves when he can’t get away from it. Like this fucking passive-aggressiveness, that probably isn’t helped at all by Zayn’s own passive-aggressive tendencies. 

He takes a deep breath, then grabs his phone, so he can listen to some music until they’ve calmed down. They’ve had enough of these little fights recently that he knows it’ll be soon. 

He must have drifted off, though, because he wakes up to someone crawling into the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Harry must be really worried this time, because usually he goes right for the little spoon, but today he’s nosing into Zayn’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, when he knows Zayn’s awake. “I was upset. I know you hate it when I do that.” 

Zayn sighs, but he can’t really stay mad when Harry’s pressing kisses to Zayn’s shoulder, and he’s wrapped around Harry like the cat he sometimes is. “I’m sorry too,” he admits, rolling over so he can face Harry. His hair’s still loose, getting in his eyes a little, but he gives Zayn a hopeful smile that really is cute. “I’ll try to be better about the trash.” 

“We can figure out a different chore split-up,” Harry suggests. “How’d you feel about sweeping more?” 

“I could probably do that better,” Zayn agrees, and smiles back. Harry finally relaxes, grins big and relieved, and Zayn has to lean in to kiss him, light and sweet. “I really am trying.”

“I know.” Harry kisses him back, another quick peck, then his grin turns into something hotter. “So, make up sex?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Zayn agrees, and laughs as Harry clambers on top of him.


	42. Chapter 42

_**Prompt: "I wanna marry you"** _

Harry waits a beat then, when there’s still no sound, “Well?” he demands. 

Niall shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it’s right.” 

“Yeah, something’s missing,” Liam agrees. “It’s Zayn, it needs to be special.” 

“But I got on one knee, I have a ring, it’ll be romantic!” Harry protests. He doesn’t know why he’s so terrified he’s going to get this wrong, because it’s Zayn and he knows Zayn loves him no matter what, but god he is. “What else can I do?” 

“Puppies,” Louis declares, grinning manically, as Liam nods knowingly and Niall starts laughing. “That’s what this needs. More puppies.” 

It’s…not a bad idea. Zayn does love puppies…


	43. Chapter 43

_**Prompt: "I would create a fake family for that."** _

It’s not entirely Harry’s fault that Zayn saying the words ‘create’ and 'family’ in a row get his attention. It’s quiet in the library study room, so of course he’s going to notice when Zayn talks. It’s not his fault that he’s attuned to him or anything. 

“For what?”

As answer, Zayn turns the computer around. It’s a view of the inside of the married students’ housing on campus, and shit, yeah. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than any of the dorms, or any of the apartments they’ve been looking at getting for next year. “Everything would be so much easier if we were married,” Zayn says, looking at the screen mournfully. 

Harry looks at the screen, then at Zayn, then back at the screen. It’s a stupid, ridiculous, painful idea. But it would solve their housing problem. And it would get him Zayn, sort of. “Well…” he holds out the word until Zayn looks at him. “We could be.” 


	44. Chapter 44

_**Prompt: "We must never stop watching the sky with our hands in our pockets."** _

“Really? That’s your rule?” Zayn asks. He rolls over on the bed, so he can properly look at Harry. “Have we ever done that?” 

“Well we could have,” Harry insists. “And we have to, now. That’s my rule. What’s yours?” 

Zayn purses his lips together as he thinks, looking down at Harry, spread out on his bed. It’s not unusual at all, the same thing they’ve been doing since they were ten, but it’s so very different now. For one thing, Harry’s naked. For another, now Zayn knows how his skin tastes, how his lips taste, how his cock tastes. How he shudders when he comes, and how sweetly he kisses afterwards. He never thought he’d know that about Harry, of all people. Never thought he could have that and his best friend. 

“My rule for us staying best friends and being boyfriends,” Zayn hums, tracing a finger down Harry’s chest. “We just have to stay us.” 


	45. Chapter 45

_**Prompt: "Lets go meet my family" from[Slow Down ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1490602/chapters/3146881)** _

“Really?” Harry nearly knocked over the chair with how fast he stands up, but Zayn just caught it. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Zayn was glancing down when he suggested it, the way he still did sometimes when he was afraid he was asking too much, but now he looked up, still that heartbreakingly beautiful look through his lashes. “I mean, if you want. We could go for dinner.” 

“Obviously!” Harry’d been trying to meet Zayn’s parents for–well, for months, if you counted the time when they hadn’t really been communicating properly, which Zayn didn’t count but Harry did. But definitely since they restarted. Harry’d been trying to be good, not to push or move faster than Zayn wanted, to do it right–but god, he wanted to meet Zayn’s parents and assure them he was doing his best by their son, to charm Zayn’s sisters into liking him. 

Into liking him, shit. “Wait, but today?” Harry went on. “I’m not ready to go today. I need time!”

Zayn’s eyebrows rose, but a smile quirked at his lips. “Are you nervous, popstar?”

“Yes! Obviously.” Harry made a face back.

“You’re nervous to meet my family. You weren’t nervous when you met the royal family.” 

“Well, that wasn’t…” Harry shook his head. “I want them to like me,” he muttered. “I know it’s important to you.” 

A chair scraped against the floor, then Zayn was wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist from behind, his chin hooking over Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, popstar. They’ll love you.” 

Harry relaxed instinctively into Zayn. But still, “How do you know?” 

“Because I love you.” Zayn’s lips brushed against Harry’s cheek, and the words and the kiss were enough that Harry could feel himself smiling despite himself. “And also, Saf’s going to faint regardless, so I think you’re set there.” 

Harry laughed, and broke out of Zayn’s arms so he could head to his wine cupboard. He must have something properly impressive. But not overbearing. Something that said ‘I can take care of your son’ but not ‘your son is my kept boy’. “Okay, that’s one down. What do I get the others?” 

“Harry.” Zayn’s voice was serious, serious enough that Harry turned. Zayn’s face was serious too, but it was so hard not to smile, at the sight of Zayn in his flat, how comfortable he looked in it. “You don’t have to buy them things for them to like you.” 

“Yes, trust me, you’ve convinced me of that.” Harry tugs at his hair, to distract himself from Zayn’s look. “I just–it’ll help. And it’s polite.” 

“Okay. But nothing extravagant?”

“Maybe something for the garage for your dad,” Harry mused. “I do have fond memories of that garage.” He grinned when Zayn rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t as well?”

“I do recall you begging to suck me off,” Zayn agreed. He was sidling forward, that saunter he got that made Harry’s mouth go dry. “That was nice.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t mention that,” Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck. Zayn chuckled, his hands moving to palm at Harry’s ass to bring him closer. He was about to just lean in and kiss him when– “Nope! No distracting me. Do you know what kind of wine your mum likes?” Harry demanded, pulling away, and ignored Zayn’s groan to go ransack his wine cellar. Zayn’s family was going to like him whether they wanted to or not.


	46. Chapter 46

_**Prompt: Zayn feeling anxious about his first live performance and Harry comes to him, holds hands and asks him "Are you ready for the biggest performance of your life?". And Zayn can't help but choke up because this is the first Harry has spoken to him since he left and now he is here! Here for Zayn and that just....** _

Zayn is in the green room, fidgeting nervously because he’s never done this before. Recording was fine, he’s used to being alone for that; even interviews he could do. But he hasn’t performed live by himself since X-Factor, and he knows he’s not always the best at stage presence and what if it all tanks there’s no one to pick up the slack he can’t do this–then suddenly there are arms around him and a warm chest pressed against his back, and it doesn’t even occur to Zayn’s body not to relax into him. 

“Ready for the biggest performance of your life?” Harry murmurs, nuzzling into Zayn’s neck as he holds him tight, and it’s so normal and grounding and Zayn can almost feel his nerves floating away. 

“You came?” he breathes, because he never expected that. Never expected any of the boys to come, really, because they aren’t in the city and he knows that this whole solo thing hurt them and he’d thought he was alone. And Harry especially, because they’ve texted a bit occasionally but Harry’s never in london and Zayn’s so bad with his phone and he hasn’t heard from him in months. Except Harry’s here, breathing onto his cheek, grabbing onto his hands to keep him from fidgeting. 

“Where else would I be?” Harry asks, his lips brushing against Zayn’s cheek. “My favorite singer’s playing, got to have front row tickets.” Zayn snorts out a laugh, and Harry detaches himself from Zayn’s back to move around so he can see him properly, though their hands stay linked. He still looks like Harry, his hair even longer now, his jeans tight and his shirt half-open and his smile bright and it lights up something in Zayn, something that drives the nerves away. “Now, you ready?” he repeats, swinging their joined hands. 

Zayn lets out a long exhale. But Harry’s here. He’s not alone, even if he’ll be alone on stage. And he can do this, he knows he can, Harry knows he can. “Yeah.” 

“Good. Then sort out your hair.” Harry laughs, and runs his hand over Zayn’s head, the short hair he’s settled on recently. “And let’s go.” 

Zayn nods. he doesn’t fuss with his hair, because he knows better, but he has to say–”Thanks, Haz.”

Harry grins almost shyly, dimpling at the ground. “Like I said,” he murmurs, and tugs Zayn closer to kiss his cheek. “Where else would I be?” 


	47. Chapter 47

_**Prompt: "Why are you looking at me?"** _

“Because you’re pretty,” Harry answers, grinning as he walks over to tug at Zayn’s tie, smoothing out the knot. “How could anyone not look at you?” 

“Leave off,” Zayn mutters, but Harry can tell he’s pleased by the compliment. And it’s taking away a little bit of the nerves Harry can see jittering in him, his fingers twitching against his thigh. Harry lets go of the tie to grab that hand, to still it. “It’s not, like, that’s not the point.” 

“Still true.” Zayn’s not quite shaking, but he’s tense, as he glances out at the sliver of space between the curtains to the audience beyond. The auditorium is dark, the woman introducing Zayn talking about all his accomplishments, but Harry knows how Zayn gets before talks, and this is so much more important. “I don’t need them to look at me, just at the data. Should I–”

“You’re fine.” For good measure, Harry grabs his other hand. It leaves Harry without any hands, but that’s probably a good thing, because his first instinct is to take away all Zayn’s nerves with his lips, but that’s definitely not something he’s laying on Zayn right now. After this conference, he’s been telling himself, and he tells himself again. After this. “You’re gonna be amazing, Zayn. I know it.” 

“How?” Zayn twitches, like he’d like to fidget but can’t, and then just looks plaintively up at Harry, with those eyes that look like they take up half his face. Harry just wants to give him the moon when he looks at Harry like that, wants to give him the moon and stars and anything else he’d ask for. “I–there’s, like, so many people, and I’m not good at talking, you know that, Haz.” 

“Don’t worry, they’ll be blown away by your research,” Harry assures him. “And if that doesn’t work, by your cheekbones.” 

It gets a smile out of Zayn, which is the most Harry was hoping for, really. He can hear the introducer wrapping things up on stage, so he lets go of Zayn’s hands just long enough to pull him into a hug, tight enough to draw out the nerves like this, maybe. Zayn hugs him back just as tight, his nose buried in the crook of Harry’s neck, and Harry just wants to hold him here forever. 

“You’re gonna be the best,” Harry whispers. He’s not even sure Zayn’s listening, but that doesn’t really matter. “You always are.” 

Zayn lifts his head, and Harry lets go. “Thanks, babe.” Zayn gives a weak smile, and Harry gives his hair a final fix, as the introducer finishes. “Okay. I can do this.” 

“You can do this,” Harry agrees, and gives him two thumbs up as he strides onto the stage, looking for all the world like he’s on a catwalk as he takes the podium. Soon, Harry thinks, slipping out so he can be in the audience. Very, very soon. 


	48. Chapter 48

_**Prompt: Harry still regrets letting him go.** _

It was funny as hell, but after three full days of Zayn giving him the silent treatment, he’s starting to regret letting Zayn fall into that pool. 

“I’m sorry!” he tries again, following Zayn back to his hotel room. Zayn doesn’t even look at him, just bids Louis a good night and unlocks his door. But he doesn’t slam the door behind him, so Harry figures that’s as good an invitation as any and hurries in after him. “I’m sorry, can you please talk to me?” 

Zayn crosses the room to his suitcase, already stripping out of his sweat-soaked shirt. And that’s just not fair, because how’s Harry supposed to remember how to apologize for a prank when Zayn’s back is there, looking all touchable? He probably knows that, too. 

“Look, Zayn, I know, it was shitty, but the pool wasn’t very deep. And I was right there,” Harry goes on. He hasn’t really said it like this yet, but laying it out, he’s starting to get annoyed. It wasn’t a big deal. Zayn does this sometimes, makes things into big fucking deals when they don’t have to be, and now he’s taking it out on Harry. “I wasn’t going to let you drown. And Liam was there too, he wouldn’t have let you drown either.” Zayn pauses midway through pulling on a fresh t-shirt before he finishes, so Harry knows he’s getting to him. “It was just a stupid prank, you don’t have to make such a deal about it. I said I was sorry.” 

“It wasn’t just a prank,” Zayn snaps. Just hearing him talk to Harry is so good that for a second Harry doesn’t really register what he’s saying, or that he’s still looking out the window, and his shoulder are almost painfully tense. “I can’t fucking swim, Harry.” 

“I wouldn’t have let you drown.” 

“That’s not what it felt like.” Harry can just stare at Zayn, at the curve of his back, watch as his hands clench into fists at his thighs. “It felt like I was drowning, and I didn’t know what way was up or how to get to the surface or if I would, and the one person I’m supposed to trust most pushed me there.” Zayn shudders, and it’s like Harry can feel it, like it’s some sort of knife in his heart because he hadn’t thought–it was supposed to be a laugh, the sort of thing Louis does all the time. “I’m supposed to be able to count on you to get me to the surface, Harry. Not pull me under.” 

“You can!” It takes Harry a few seconds to cross the room, which is too many, too many before he can get his hands on Zayn and pull him back into him, before he can start kissing every bit of Zayn that’s bare, can try to kiss the tension away. “You can,” he promises, holding on tight. Zayn’s not melting into him like he usually does, but he’s not pulling away, and Harry’ll take it. “I swear, you can. I’ll always keep you afloat. Always.” 

“No letting me go?” Zayn asks, and this close Harry can see how it catches in his throat. 

“Never again.” Harry presses the words into Zayn’s neck, his cheek. “Never.” 


	49. Chapter 49

_**Prompt: "Why didn't you tell me?"** _

“I was going to,” Zayn tries, and edges around Harry to get to the couch, making sure to keep a good distance. He’s tired from work, and he’d wanted to collapse, not come home to his roommate confronting him with an envelope with a well-known seal on it. 

“Was going to? The decision’s been out for week! And you had to have known, I figured when you didn’t say anything when the decisions were going up you hadn’t gotten in, but—this is amazing!” Harry’s grinning brilliantly, dimples deep in his cheeks, and Zayn looks down at his knees. 

“Yeah, I just…I’m not sure I’m going to go,” he mutters. He can hear Harry’s gasp, then a second later the couch creaks, and Harry’s shoulder bumps his and his hair falls onto Zayn’s cheek. Zayn breathes in, vanilla and Harry, and lets out a deep breath, deep as the one he’d let out a week ago when he’d stared at that admissions screen for a long, long time before closing his computer.

“Why not? It’s your dream! I’m so proud of you!” 

Zayn looks up, helpless against Harry’s big eyes and dimpling smile and essential Harry-ness. _Because I love you_ , he wants to say. _Because it’s all the way across the country, and I don’t want to lose what parts of you I have_. 

“It’s pretty far away,” he replies, and lets the _from you_ go unspoken.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Prompt: "I'm not a whore!"** _

“Um, okay?” the very pretty man Harry just accosted raises his eyebrows at Harry. Harry is very drunk, but he is fairly sure that it means the very pretty man didn’t understand him, and not, as he might hope, that the very pretty man would like to let him lick his cheekbones. “Never said you were, mate.” 

“I just wanted to clarify,” Harry clarifies. He gestures over the man’s shoulder for another drink. “‘cause once I was hitting on someone and they thought I was, and I didn’t want you to be confused.” 

The guy’s eyebrows haven’t gone down, but his lips are twitching, which Harry knows means he’s winning. “Are you hitting on me, then?” he asks, which, fair point. 

“I’m about to start,” Harry informs him. He shakes back his hair, closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again to smirk at the very pretty man. “So, how you doing?” 

The guy keeps a straight face for a second before it breaks, his whole body curling in as he starts to giggle. His eyes light up with it, and his tongue’s pressed against his teeth, and fuck, he really is very pretty. This isn’t the usual reaction to Harry’s flirting, but it’s better than being confused for a whore, he supposes, and joins in the man’s laughter. 


	51. Chapter 51

_**Prompt: seeing each other after years and years, "I read your book." "And?"** _

“I’m not in it.” 

Zayn blinks. “No,” he agrees. “You weren’t.” 

A lot of other people from their high school had been in some form or another, because write what you know’s more than just a cliche, but not Harry. 

“Did you forget about me?” Harry asks, pouting, and it’s just as devastating a pout now as it had been fifteen years ago. He’s grown up other than that though, no longer the Harry Styles in Zayn’s mind, the charming, smiling kid with the messy curls and dimples. Now he’s got long, sleek curls and a broad chest and his thighs are sinful in his tight jeans, and if Zayn had never really gotten over the teenager he thinks he’ll never recover from the sight of the man. 

“No,” Zayn admits. He can do this; he’s not the kid in the corner too shy to talk to Harry Styles, who moved through cliques like they didn’t exist. “No, just—I couldn’t do you justice.” 

Harry smiles, and the dimples are still there, fuck. “Really, Zayn?” he says, and that is definitely purring, Zayn thinks, almost frantic. “Maybe if I gave you a refresher, you could.”


	52. Chapter 52

_**Prompt: Who was the sap sending him love poems?** _

It’s not a thought Harry ever thought he’d have, but it’s not a bad one, really, he thinks as he stares at his phone, where the email with the poem is. He knows that it’s sort of freaking Liam out, that he’s worried about the nondescript email account and the stalker potential, but Harry figures that it’s to his school email, so it’s not like it’d take stalking to figure out. And it’s sweet. Brightens up his day. 

He’s still beaming as he drops into his seat at the seminar table, glancing around brightly. A few of the other students are already there, on their computers or hurriedly finishing the reading or on their phones. He grins at all of them indiscriminately, then gets his own notebook out of his bag. 

He’s still bent over when there are three thumps next to him, and Harry grins at his bag at that, too. He knows those three thumps—bag to floor, ass (or what there is of it, he’s teased) to chair, head to table. 

Sure enough, when he sits up there’s the back of a dark-haired head resting on the table, the tattoo on the back of his neck just visible between his t-shirt and his hair. 

“Hey, Zaaaaayn,” Harry says cheerfully, and pokes at his shoulder.

Zayn doesn’t lift his head, but he does grumble out, “No,” and flail his hand a little in Harry’s direction. 

“Wake up, and I’ll show you the email I got this morning!” 

Zayn lifts his head. It’s not fair, Harry thinks for the thousandth time; Harry knows perfectly well he just rolled out of bed to get here, and he’s still more beautiful than any of the paintings they study. Harry spares a bit of guilt for the sap sending him love poems, but he didn’t promise him anything, and it’s Zayn. 

“What email?” Zayn asks. 

“I’ve got a secret admirer!” Harry crows, and shoves his phone in Zayn’s face. If there’s a bit of him that’s hoping Zayn will get jealous and declare his love for Harry, well, that’s neither here nor there. 

Instead, Zayn’s gaze scans down the screen, then he glances up at Harry, something almost nervous in the look he shoots Harry from under his eyelashes. “So, what do you think?”

_I think he’ll never measure up to you,_ Harry thinks, a little dejected. Zayn could at least have looked put out. 


	53. Chapter 53

_**Prompt: “The simplest answer is to act."** _

“Really?” Harry asks. His eyes are wide and innocent, but he’s got one of those smirks on like he knows that Zayn’s just on the wrong side of sober to find looking away from his lips a hard task. “You think I should act?” 

“I think it’s simplest?” Zayn shrugs. The bar’s loud, loud enough that they’ve solved the problem of not being able to hear each other by Harry practically being on Zayn’s lap, which is…not the worst way to solve it, really. Though maybe not ideal with the discussion topic. “Maybe not always the best, with a romantic situation, but it makes it–”

He‘s drunk enough that it takes him a second to figure out why he can’t talk anymore. But once he realizes, once he registers that he’s been cut off by Harry’s lips on his, warm and smooth and everything he’d dreamed of, he kisses back, grabbing at Harry’s hair to keep him there are Harry’s lips move against his hard and fast and hot. 

He’s still in a daze when Harry pulls away, drunk on Harry’s mouth more than anything. “What?” he asks. Harry’s lips are swollen, and now Zayn knows how he tastes and how his hair feels fisted in his hand. Sober him can deal with this , he decides. 

Harry grins, that smirk times a thousand, but his gaze is hopeful. “You said if I had a crush, I should act on it,” he says. Zayn nods, because he had said that, that’s true. “This is me, acting.” He tilts his head, his lips pursing, and Zayn can’t help licking his lips. Harry tracks the motion with his own gaze, then looks up, and he’s not knowing anymore. Now there’s just hope. “So, is it going to be simple?”


	54. Chapter 54

_**Prompt: "What if I pay you?"** _

“Why Zayn.” Harry flutters his eyelashes ridiculously. “Do I look like that kind of boy?” 

“Come on, Harry,” Zayn moans. Harry blinks. He’s fairly certain he’s not asleep, but Zayn usually only says that in those dreams he certainly never has and certainly never wakes up hard from. “Please?”

Harry pinches himself, but nope, he’s awake. Huh. Context really is everything, it seems. “I don’t see why you need me,” he replies, because his brain’s still replaying that last sentence over and over, to a backdrop of imagining his best friend on his hands and knees. It’s probably not healthy, Harry knows, but on the other hand, it’s not like it’s a new development. “You love your family. They’re the one set of people you don’t need me for.” 

Zayn doesn’t blink at Harry’s assertion that he does need Harry for other people, which only sets off a few butterflies in Harry’s stomach. “But this is a wedding,” He explains, dragging out the word. “And I’m single. Do you know how many eligible girls there will be there?“

“No?”

“Me neither, but I will by the time the weekend is over, because I’ll have been paired off with each one of them at some point.”

“And that’s bad?” 

“Every one,” Zayn repeats, menacingly. Harry’s still not entirely sure why that’s a bad thing–or no. He is. He knows it wouldn’t be for him, but he knows Zayn would hate it, constantly getting pushed at people. That it would make Zayn miserable, on a weekend with family that he usually loves. That Harry could make him not miserable. And see Zayn’s family, who he loves, and eat good food and have fun and save Zayn from matchmaking. And act as his boyfriend, but Harry’s sure that’ll come. 

“Fine,” he agrees, and lets Zayn pull him into a thankful hug, his arms tight around Harry’s shoulders. Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist and squeezes too, lifting him off the ground a little bit because he feels like being a shit. “You don’t even have to pay me.” 

“Oh, kinky,” Zayn drawls–and there’s that image again, of Zayn saying that as Harry tells him what he’s dreamed about. 

Harry hugs him tighter. Everything’s going to be fine. Really. He’s sure of it.


	55. Chapter 55

_**Prompt: "I'm not jealous but what's mine is MINE ONLY"** _

“I’m not yours.” Zayn tugs away from the hand Harry’s wrapped around his waist, to go deeper into the club. He hadn’t even wanted to come, always feels awkward and unsure in clubs unless he’s trashed. He doesn’t know where Harry gets off being annoyed because some guy had talked to him at the bar. “So fuck off.” 

He pushes more into the crowd, just to get away, but he doesn’t like it there either. He needs to get out, get away, get somewhere he can breathe, because Harry’s just–he loves him, he does, but he’s so much sometimes, the way he needs to have all of Zayn, even when Zayn doesn’t always have more to give. 

He needs a cigarette, is what he needs. He pushes through the crowd, out to the alley in back. The bass still thrums in his bones, but it’s quieter out here, just chilly enough to be a relief against the stifling heat inside. 

Zayn leans his head back against the brick wall, inhales and exhales. He’s not Harry’s, even if he’d had no thought of responding to that guy’s flirting, even if he’d fully intended to dance with Harry and go home with him. He’s his own. 

“Hey.” Zayn drags his eyes away from the cloudy sky to the door. Harry’s standing in the threshold, illuminated for a second by the flashing lights behind him before the door swings shut and he paces forward, that slow, predatory gait he gets when he wants something. When he wants Zayn. 

“Hey.” Zayn blows out smoke, tears his eyes away from Harry to watch it rise into the sky. He takes a deep breath, then, because he does love Harry, “I wasn’t going to flirt with him or anything. You know that.” 

“I do,” Harry admits. He’d sound more sheepish about it if he hadn’t reached Zayn then, if he hadn’t put a hand next to Zayn’s head to brace himself. “I do, Zayn, really. I know.” 

“Then the fuck, Harry?” it’s not a well-articulated question, but Harry seems to get it, with how he wrinkles his nose and his brow furrows. 

“I just–don’t like sharing you,” he comes up with finally. Zayn sighs, and drops the butt of his cigarette to the ground. 

“I’m not yours to share.” 

“No?” Harry’s other hand’s on the other side of his head now, pinning Zayn in. But it’s Harry; he might be bigger but Zayn knows he’s not trapped. It’s just Harry, all around him, his eyes burning. “You aren’t?”

“No.” Harry doesn’t kiss him, like he’d expected; instead his lips drag over Zayn’s neck, down to the spot on his collarbone where he’s most sensitive. He sucks, and lick, and bites just enough that it makes Zayn’s head tip back, his breath quicken. He can feel himself go pliant for Harry and he just can’t help it, how he melts back into the wall so it and Harry are the only things holding him up. “Fuck, Harry–”

“Are you mine?” Harry repeats. His lips trail over Zayn’s skin, nipping and licking, and his hand’s working on the button of Zayn’s jeans. He gets them open, but his hand hovers over where Zayn’s already half-hard. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He might as well admit it, and he stops pressing his hands against his thighs to grab at Harry’s hair, bring him closer so he can kiss him properly. “Yours.”


	56. Chapter 56

_**Fireworks** _

Sometimes, Zayn is confused by Harry on, like, an existential level. It’s past not understanding and reached a sort of just, resigned incomprehension. He doesn’t get juice cleanses, for one. Or why Harry insists on waking up at the crack of dawn when he doesn’t need to. Or why he thinks bananas are god’s gift to the world. Or why he has that weird thing for kissing Zayn’s knees in bed. 

Or, for instance, why he’s standing in the yard of Harry’s LA house, as Harry hands out margaritas with a liberal hand to all his friends around the yard in jean shorts and a white linen shirt billowing unbuttoned to his bellybutton, chatting excitedly with all of them.

“You do realize,” Zayn had said, when Harry had talked about doing a cookout, “That we aren’t American?”

Harry had made an understanding grunting sort of noise, though he was mostly upside down in downward dog. It was often easiest to talk to him while he was doing yoga, because he was less likely to just leave and not talk anymore. It was also nice to look at, and Zayn and Harry both knew there was a reason why Zayn liked to read in the mornings in the brightly-lit front room of the house where Harry did his yoga, and why Harry had taken to wearing progressively tighter pants while doing it.

“And,” Zayn went on, “That they are, in fact celebrating them getting away from us? That we’re the losers, on July 4th?”

Harry had lifted his head then, and his hair messy around his face, and his chest was shining with sweat and his ass was tight and firm and his pants didn’t hide that at all, and the sun was warming his skin to a rich warm tan. “But it’ll be fun, Zaynie” he said, and he was grinning with his dimples big and his eyes wide, and really, it was still early and Zayn couldn’t take responsibility for decisions he made early in the morning when Harry was grinning at him like that.

So a Fourth of July barbecue it was.

Zayn had to do very little for it, over all. Harry liked to arrange these sorts of things, and it was mainly his friends out here—Zayn liked them all well enough, the ones he had met, but he still preferred London, couldn’t really wait until they’d go back in a month as part of their attempt at splitting time between the continents, even though it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of things to do here too. So Harry invited his friends and set up catering, and all Zayn had to do, he was told in no uncertain terms, was to show up, look pretty, have a good time, and let Harry kiss him under the fireworks.

So far, Zayn thought, sipping his margarita, he had the first one down—he was here—and he thought he was doing all right with the second. He’d tried to channel that one shoot they did, the grungy American one, so he was in ripped acid wash jeans and a red flannel over a wife beater. He was letting his hair grow back in at last, but it still wasn’t long enough to do anything with. And Harry had grinned when he’d seen him come downstairs, a little after the first guests had arrived, and given him a leering once over, so yeah. He thought he was doing well with the looking pretty.

And he wasn’t doing bad with the having fun thing. Harry’s friends were pretty cool, in general; some of them were as incomprehensible as Harry, but others were chill, and they all made an effort to talk to Zayn, which he could appreciate. Especially given the liminal place he held in Harry’s life right now—not a bandmate anymore, not quite an official media-acknowledged boyfriend, but not just a friend anymore either. So yeah, the fact that they were trying to include him was cool. Jeff had spent a while with him while Harry flitted around playing host, telling him about everyone there, talking about the new stuff Zayn was doing, about all that shit, and it was pretty clear what he was doing getting to know Zayn.

But Zayn urged Jeff off to mingle after a while, not wanting him stuck with him, and Zayn had talked to enough people for a while. He’d wandered, he’d drunk, he’d eaten some of the burgers set out with little American flags in them, he’d caught Harry as he nearly tumbled into the pool and been rewarded with a laughing hug. He’d even talked a little with a producer, gotten his number—Shahid should be proud. He’d talked graffiti with some artist bird that was one of the many people Harry had collected, promised her he’d go to her gallery when he got a chance. It’s nice. Lowkey and easy, like he likes, which he has to wonder if Harry did it on purpose, because he knows that’s what Zayn likes.

“So.” Harry’s arms are around his waist all of a sudden, his head on his shoulder and his lips at his cheeks. “Having a good time?”

Zayn grins, turns his head so he can respond. If that puts his lips a convenient distance from Harry’s, well. They’d long since figured out that was just coincidence. “Still think it’s silly to celebrate losing the colonies.”

“I mean, Americans. Did we really want them?” Zayn laughs, and Harry grins, so bright it’s almost blinding this close. “But really. Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, like. ‘s chill.” Harry’s grin softens, goes from brilliant to fond. “It everything you wanted?”

“Yeah! Well. It will be once the fireworks start.” He blows behind Zayn’s ear, right where it always gets him. “That’s when you’ve got a job to do.”

Zayn sets down his drink on the nearest table, then turns in Harry’s arms, so his hands are more on his ass than not and Zayn can get a hand around his neck, playing with the hair that’s hanging loose to his shoulders. “We could get a head start on that.”

“Zayn…”

“But didn’t I do my job looking pretty?”

They’re still new enough—still finding their way enough—that there’s a thrill to see Harry’s eyes go dark, to see him lick his lips, and know for sure that’s for Zayn. That later, or maybe now, Zayn will be able to taste those lips, that Zayn will be the one Harry brings back to his bed.

But, “No,” Harry says, sternly as he can, and pushes Zayn’s chest back. His hand doesn’t move after he’s done pushing, though. “Not until the fireworks.”

“Haz…” Zayn whines, but he lets Harry push him away. Lets Harry grab his hand and pull him over to the drinks table for a refreshment, then around to more people, introducing them even if none of them really need an introduction. Their hands stay locked together, and Zayn sort of wonders what people think about that, but it’s not like they didn’t used to do worse, in the band together.

Harry doesn’t let go of him all evening, until the sun’s set and everyone’s gathering on the edge of the lawn where apparently, Harry had informed Zayn proudly when showing off his house, they could see the city fireworks. It being a proper cookout, according to more incomprehensible Harry rules, they sit on the ground on blankets, and Harry goes with Zayn to the big Hawaiian flower blanket like it’s assumed he couldn’t be anywhere else. Which, Zayn supposes, he wouldn’t be. He’s just not entirely used to remembering that.

He likes it, though. He likes knowing it, he likes Harry’s LA house, he likes that he’s settled there for a while, even if it’s not London.

Harry lets his cheek rest on Zayn’s shoulder, throws an arm around his waist, as they look into the sky for the fireworks.

“I know you think this is silly,” Harry says, quietly enough that no one else could hear them over their own conversations. “Throwing a Fourth of July party when we’re not American.”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, but, like. Makes you happy, doesn’t it?”

Harry grins at him, his eyes big and soft and a little incredulous. Like maybe he’s still reeling with the newness too. “Fuck, I love you,” he tells Zayn, brushing his lips over Zayn’s cheek.

“Love you too.” It’s instinct, to say it back, because he’s loved Harry longer than he’s _loved_ him, but he means it both ways. He means it all the ways. “Even if you throw treasonous parties.”

Harry snorts. “Didn’t know you were so loyal to Queen and Country,” he teases, and Zayn sticks out his tongue. Harry makes a face back, then sobers. “No. But. I know it’s silly. I just…” he shrugs. “I want to make traditions, with you. Want to have, fuck, I don’t know, moments. Things that are just us. Nothing from before.” He gives a sheepish laugh. “It sounds silly, I know.”

Zayn laughs. Maybe this isn’t so incomprehensible after all. Maybe it’s Harry carving out a space for them, in this house that used to be just his own. “Nah, babe.” He noses at Harry’s cheek until he looks at Zayn again, then slides a hand behind his neck, so he can tilt his head properly. “Sounds like something to celebrate for me.”

Their lips are about to meet when something booms and Zayn jumps, looking around. But it’s just the fireworks, sparkling into the sky, and now Harry’s laughing into his neck.

“Fuck off,” Zayn mutters, shoving at Harry. “It was loud, yeah? Wasn’t expecting it.”

“’Course you weren’t,” Harry laughs, then he’s got his hand on Zayn’s head and he’s drawing him in, and they’re kissing as the fireworks spark and boom and shine above them, like brand new stars in the sky.


	57. Chapter 57

_**Prompt: Harry seeing the pictures of Zayn at the fashion show** _

“So, this betrayal of long hair squad is permanent, then?”

Zayn laughs as he throws himself back on the bed, keeping his phone to his ear. He’s not sure what he expected when he saw the caller id, but Harry’s always done this to him, given him what he didn’t expect but needed. In this case, apparently, it’s a laugh, in this massive hotel room.

“Dunno,” he replies, stretching. It’s been sick, getting the samples, him and Caroline talking about his new brand and what he wants and all that shit, but he’s glad to be back in his sweats for a while. “Haven’t decided, yet.”

“I see how it is.” Zayn knows the tone and the little scoff after it, knows it goes with Harry’s pretend-offended face, the one where his eyes widen and his mouth opens. If he closes his eyes, he can picture it, Harry…he doesn’t actually know where he is, but Harry’s face, that he knows. “That’s betrayal, yeah? Leaving the band’s one thing, but the hair, that I’m not sure I can forgive.”

Zayn’s laughter dies, and he just—he waits. Waits for the other shoe to drop, for Harry to say something passive aggressive, like he’d expected when he’d seen Harry’s name lighting up his phone. It’s always there, under every interaction he’d had with the boys since March, the unspoken accusation. Even with Harry, though he thinks it’s been lighter with Harry. Less intense. But Harry just breezes on, like it really was that casual. Like maybe he’s starting to forgive.

“You enjoying fashion week, then?”

“It’s awesome,” Zayn agrees, letting out a breath. Okay. Okay, then. “Like, so sick, I sat next to fucking Kanye yesterday.”

“Yeah, I saw.” There’s a beat, then, “You been good?”

Zayn knows the unspoken question there, and he has to smile at it, at Harry’s concern, even from so far away. But it’s not really smiling matter. “It’s been weird.”

It’s the only word he can use to describe it, being alone there—being Zayn Malik, instead of one fifth of One Direction. It’s just weird. Not bad, but weird, knowing he’s standing on his own. That he can’t count on the other boys, that they aren’t there to back him up if he needs it. He hasn’t needed it, not yet, not with Kanye or anyone, but it’s still…weird.

“Seems like you’ve been smashing it, though,” Harry hums, and there’s a note in it, one Zayn vaguely recognizes. “I saw the picture. They look good.”

“Just good?” Zayn teases, glad to be back on solid ground. He gets up from the bed, wanders over to the window that looks out over Paris. He’s always liked Paris, never had a proper chance to explore it before. He’ll be able to, this time. A bit more, at least.

“Fishing for compliments, Zayn?”

“Do I need to fish?” Out in the main room of the suite, there’s a cheer, someone probably scoring a point on the game Jawaad’s watching. It’s been good to have him here, to have him fill up the empty suite with noise. Makes it less weird, to have another boy around him.

“You look beautiful,” Harry says, frank and sudden, and Zayn’s breath hitches in his throat. People tell him how fit he is all the time, but there’s something about the way Harry does it that always hits Zayn in the gut. “Just gaped at the pictures for a full minute after I saw them, you can ask Jeff.”

Zayn grins at the window. “Yeah, babe?”

“Yeah, babe,” Harry echoes back, mocking. “I liked the blue Louis Vuitton especially.”

Zayn snorts. “’Course you did.”

“You pulled it off. Pulled all of it off.” There’s the sound of a door closing from Harry’s end, then Harry shifting. “I mean, I could have pulled it off you better, but…”

“That way you called, then?” Zayn chuckles, goes back to the bed. “Those pictures inspire you.”

“I called to compliment you on your look,” Harry replies, his voice very prim. Zayn knows the expression that goes with this, too, the way he’d press his lips together in his best impression of a school marm, except for the laughter in his eyes and the way his dimples would peek out despite himself. “Maybe I should have called Caroline instead.”

“She’d love to hear from you, I’m sure.”

“Maybe I’ll just call her then. You did betray the long hair squad. Hanging out with Kanye without Liam, too. Not sure he’ll forgive you for that.”

Zayn bites his lip. “I texted him.”

“Really?” he can hear the real surprise in Harry’s voice, then the way it relaxes into pleasure. “That’s great, Zayn. Did you text Louis about that football player?”

Zayn snorts at that. “No.”

“Zayn—”

“Harry,” Zayn cuts him off. He doesn’t want to get into that.

“Well.” Harry pauses. “Did you text Niall about Joe Jonas, then?”

“Forgot, I’ll do that.” Zayn’s just glad Harry didn’t press the Louis thing. He’s been trying to, and Zayn’s sick of it. Maybe Louis’ll get the point from his Bus 1 tweet.

“Yeah.” Harry pauses, then adds, “You were looking chummy, though. You and Joe.”

“He’s a good lad,” Zayn agrees. He stretches, arching his back. Fashion shows mean a lot of sitting, who knew.

“I’m sure he is.” There’s more shifting from the other side of the phone. “You seemed to have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, well, like. Similar experiences, you know?” It had been good. Always that weird, but not bad, talking to Joe. To everyone. Having people talk to him as him, not always asking him about the other boys. Answering with singular pronouns. He thinks he did well, though; his team’d seemed pleased, and he thought people had liked him. He might not have been Harry, didn’t have them eating out of the palm of his hand already, but he’d done fine.

“You made an impression on him, for sure. Following you on instagram now, did you see?”

Zayn blinks, but he knows that note in Harry’s voice, the not-quite-annoyed, not-quite aggressive bite. “Are you jealous, babe?”

“No,” Harry replies immediately. Zayn waits. He can usually outwait Harry. “No,” he repeats, sheepish now. Zayn’s sort of glad this is over the phone, otherwise Harry would see his smirk. “Just, not used to there being pictures of you whispering to someone else, you know? Looking like that. But it’s stupid, I know, it’s just that I haven’t seen you in a while. And with it being so…” He trails off, but Zayn can fill in the blank. Harry’d taken it okay, maybe best of all of them, but it’s not the same, even between them. Even though Harry’d never said anything about not being…them, whatever that was, even at first when every conversation had been stilted and loaded. This is better than it has been in months, though. Enough for Zayn to have hope. “Yeah. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“You could see me,” Zayn suggests, before he can think better of it. “Are you coming down this week?” He’d wondered, when he decided to come, but he hadn’t wanted to ask. Hadn’t wanted to know how Harry’d react. But irrational jealousy is making him feel good, honestly. Harry still cares enough.

“Dunno.” Harry hums. “Maybe I’ll have to surprise you.”

“Haz…” Zayn whines, but Harry’s laughing, because he’s a little shit sometimes.

“Nope, you’ll see. It’s your punishment.”

“You could think of a funner punishment than that,” Zayn retorts, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to go low like that but it does. It’s been ages since he saw Harry, and things have been too…whatever for proper phone sex.

He can hear Harry breathe, quick and hoarse. “That too,” Harry says, finally, and Zayn shivers at the low drawl of it, the way it promises things like only Harry can. “Definitely that too.”

“I’ve got—” there’s a commotion in the other room, and Zayn glances at the clock. Shit. He’s got a meeting soon, he doesn’t have time for it. “Shit, I’ve got to go, Haz.”

“Probably good.” Harry sighs, but the drawl’s still there, a bit. “It’ll take some time. Don’t want to waste it over the phone.”

“Then you should probably come,” Zayn points out. Harry laughs.

“You’ll see, told you. If not, when you’re back in London. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Jawaad’s talking to someone outside, so Zayn doesn’t have long. “Break a leg tonight, yeah? But not really. No falling off stage.”

“Only because you told me,” Harry laughs back.

“I’m serious. Don’t be stupid.”

“Go away, Zayn,” Harry’s probably sticking out his tongue. There’s a pang in Zayn, that he won’t be able to kiss the face away, but soon.

“Later, babe.”

“Later.” Zayn’s about to hang up the phone when Harry speaks up again. “And—Zayn, you’ll smash it on your own. Even if I don’t show up. You don’t need us, never did. So don’t worry about the weird.”

It’s—it hits Zayn in the gut and the heart at once, the belief in Harry’s voice, like it’s always been, even when he let Zayn lean on him. “Harry,” he breathes, and he knows his voice says everything he can’t.

“Yeah. See you later, Zayn,” Harry tells him, and hangs up.

Zayn looks at the phone for a long minute, then out at Paris outside the window. Soon, he thinks. Soon, the weird will be gone, and he’ll be okay. And Harry will be here soon.

He smiles, and tosses the phone on the bed to get dressed. He might need to see if Joe’s around anywhere. Harry’s a lot of fun when he’s feeling possessive.


	58. Chapter 58

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said when you thought I was asleep;_ ** **_things you said after you kissed me;_ ** **_things you said with too many miles between us_ **

Zayn is floating. It’s not like being high, not like any drugs he’s ever had, he’s just–floating. The pain’s still there, but it’s like it’s wrapped in layers and layers of gauze until Zayn can put it in a corner and pretend it’s not there, and he can just lie here in the clouds. He knows he should be uncomfortable; his leg’s at a weird angle and there are needles in him and there’s a beeping that won’t stop, but he’s floating and everything’s good. These must be the good drugs, he thinks, then that thought’s whisked away. 

“Oh god, Zayn.” No. No, these aren’t the good drugs, because they’re making him hallucinate. Harry’s not here. Harry’s not in this hospital, he’s somewhere that’s not here, that’s far away from LA, because he’s mad at Zayn, he doesn’t feel what Zayn does, and so they’re avoiding each other and Harry can’t be here just because Zayn wants him so bad. 

Zayn could open his eyes, but his eyelids feel so heavy, and he can’t bring himself to. A chair scrapes, someone must be sitting down, because people sit down all the time now. 

“Zayn?” And there’s the voice again, the one that sounds so much like Harry but is all in Zayn’s head, because Harry’s not here. Here is LA and laughter and then–the car and pain and Zayn starts to thrash because the gauze is being ripped off and there’s so much of it it’s everywhere why can’t he move his leg and he thinks his whole body’s broken–

“Shit, nurse! I need a nurse, i think something’s happened–”

Pain and stabbing and the impact like the time Zayn’d fallen out of a tree but a thousand times worse and then–it’s gone, and so is Zayn, the clouds wrapping him up again. 

—

“–it’s fucked up, you know?” Zayn knows. He’s glad his hallucination of Harry agrees. “I had to hear about it online. It’s not like there’s any reason for me to know another way, but that’s all I could think about, when I saw. That I should have known. I should have been here.” He should, Zayn thinks. Harry should be here. If he had a few less drugs in him he thinks he would be mad, but he just keeps his eyes closed, holds onto the hallucination. It’s enough, almost. To fool Zayn into thinking Harry cared enough to come. “Or, none of this should have happened. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have gotten into that stupid car.” Maybe he’ll sue the driver, Zayn wonders, then wonders if the driver lived, or why that thought’s wrapped in gauze too. “You shouldn’t be in a hospital, Zayn.”

Well yes, Zayn knows that. But his hallucination wouldn’t tell him anything he doesn’t know, that makes sense, it’s not like–he’s not some sort of spirit guide. Harry would be a shit spirit guide, he always gets lost. He and Zayn would get lost together. Back before–before Zayn messed everything up, all the stupid shit he’d felt and said. 

“You look…I forget, you know? You look small. Don’t worry, you’re still pretty.” Hallucination-Harry _haha it alliterates_ chuckles. Zayn wants to smile, but his lips are too heavy. He likes Harry’s laughter, it always makes him feel better. “You’ll be pretty when–you’re always pretty. I…” 

—

“The other boys send their love,” Hallucination Harry says. Zayn wishes he could hallucinate something else. Someone else. Maybe Louis to yell at him. That would feel better than Harry, because Harry’s so close and so far and that’s everything about them always. “They can’t get away. I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t–I couldn’t not be here. I heard and I had to come, Zayn. I had to see you, in case…” 

Zayn wants to comfort him, because he knows how Harry sounds like when he’s in tears, but he can’t move his arm and Harry’s not here anyway. Harry wouldn’t cry over him. Or he might, but not at his bedside, and not really. Not like Zayn would cry over Harry. He’s always known that. 

“You just–you have to wake up, okay? You have to get better.” Yes, Zayn knows, he’s trying. “I have so much I need to tell you. You aren’t allowed to–I need to tell you I was wrong.” Zayn’s definitely hallucinating now, because Harry never admits he’s wrong, not about them. “I have the voicemail, the one you left after you left, and I just haven’t known how to respond. Or I know, I just didn’t know how to say it.” The voicemail, another thing the drugs are keeping hidden, so embarrassing, Zayn pouring out his heart about he still loved him and he knew Harry didn’t but he’d love him forever. Zayn shouldn’t have sent it. But he hopes Harry does really have it now. 

“You remember, during Take Me Home? What we were like? I couldn’t breathe for wanting you, couldn’t get enough of you, and it–it scared me.” No, Zayn doesn’t want to hear this, why is his subconscious making him here this? All the many reasons he’s picked apart about why Harry stopped it, why Harry didn’t want him. “You were so ready to go all in, and you looked at me like I was your whole world, and I wasn’t ready for that, I was scared and so I stopped it, and I don’t blame you for what you did after, but–” a sob. It hurts. “Zayn, you can’t die. Not before I tell you I love you.” 

I love you too, Zayn wants to tell hallucination Harry, I’ll always love you, even though real you doesn’t love me back, but he’s so heavy and he can’t make out hallucination Harry’s words anymore. 

—

“–still in headlines, you’ll be happy to know. You’ve definitely upstaged Niall’s birthday. He forgives you, by the way.He said you getting better would be a great birthday present, if you couldn’t think of anything else. I was–” 

—

“–getting better, the nurse says. You’ll be able to walk, so that’s good. I don’t know if they’ll be able to do anything to make you run less weirdly, but I’m sure they’ll try.” Zayn doesn’t think hallucination Harry has anything to say about running, but he lets him have it. I expect you to carry me–”

—

“–all the time. There are holes. We’re good, we’re doing fine, but it’s not the same, without you. I don’t blame you for leaving, i’m not mad anymore, but I miss having you there. Even when I hadn’t said it yet, it was like–just knowing you were there, ready to catch me if I feel. It made everything easier. I know I could have–”

—

Zayn feels better, as he wakes up. A little less gauze, or maybe the gauze is keeping less pain away. He feels less heavy. 

“I stopped believing in fairy tales when we sort of became one, you know? Figured out it wasn’t all just happily ever after, so fairy tales meant a little less.” Or maybe he’s still just as drugged out of his mind, because he’s still hallucinating Harry’s voice. “But–you have to wake up, Zayn. I need you to wake up, so I can tell you everything I should have told you already, and–I’ll try anything. You won’t be awake to make fun of me if it doesn’t work, anyway. And I’ll try not to think of the symbolism if true love’s kiss doesn’t work.” 

Zayn hears footsteps, then–then there’s a pressure on his lips, lips pressing against them, solid and firm and real, and that’s–he doesn’t think he’s hallucinating–the lips pull away, but Zayn has to see, has to know. HAs to stop torturing himself, if there’s no one there. 

It takes great effort of will, but no one’s ever said Zayn can’t work when he puts his mind to it. He opens his eyes. 

Harry’s staring down at him, his face taking up all of Zayn’s vision, and his brow’s furrowed until his eyes widen comically and he starts back. “Zayn!” he yelps. 

Zayn manages to blink, slowly. “You’re real.” His voice sounds rough and hoarse and it hurts, but he needs to say it. 

“You’re–it–” Harry swallows, then his hand is on Zayn, tracing his nose. “I love you.” 

“You’re real,” Zayn repeats. He doesn’t know if it’s out loud, but Harry’s calling a nurse and he’s right there and he came and he loves Zayn and he’s real. I love you too, he wants to say, but opening his eyes was too hard, and he thinks he’s falling asleep again. 

“I’m telling everyone true love’s kiss woke you up,” not-a-hallucination Harry says, and Zayn would know his hands anywhere, as they stroke over his forehead. “So you’d better get better soon to prove me right.” 


	59. Chapter 59

It takes Harry a second to process. Harry’s usually good at going with the flow, and rolling with the punches, at whatever metaphor comes his way, but it takes a second for him to process the notification that’s just come up on his phone.

_1 message from Zayn Malik_

Harry glances around the studio, just to be sure. But Niall’s in the booth, and he hasn’t done the squirmy thing he always does when his phone goes off and he can’t get to it, and Louis and Liam are bent over a notebook, neither of them looking at their phones. He doesn’t think Louis would change the number or anything, either. That’d be too cruel a prank. And Louis wouldn’t touch anything with Zayn’s name on it, these days.

He looks at the lock screen of his phone again, and it’s still there.

There’s nothing for it, then. He opens his phone, reads the text.

Despite the others’ lack of reaction, he still sort of assumed it had gone to the group text, but no. It goes right to him and Zayn’s texting history. And that’s not bad, but it’s just…it’s been a while, since he and Zayn have texted, just them. Longer than just March. Not because they aren’t friends, or weren’t, but just because it’s been years since they were each other’s first thoughts. Zayn texts Louis now, or Liam. Harry goes to Niall or Liam. It’s not weird, it just is.

But there’s the text, just to him.

_Your balls all right, then? Aha x_

For a moment, Harry’s confused, but then he remembers. And he has to smile, because it’s such a Zayn text. Such a Zayn thing to do, to just open with that after radio silence for almost two months. After everything that went down. Just ignoring the weirdness of what he’s doing.

 _Fine now. You saw?_ He texts back. He can’t help glancing around. It feels like he’s doing something illicit. Which isn’t far off; he doesn’t know what Louis would do if he knew Zayn had texted him, but he has a feeling it would be very loud.

And anyway, he barely expects Zayn to text back right away. It’s…around dinner, in London, so he probably won’t. He only really texts back immediately when it’s late and everyone else is asleep. Or maybe that’s just how it is with Harry, between him and Harry.

But then the little dots pop up, and almost right away, _Just finishing it now. You have some help taking care of your balls then? :p x_

Harry snorts. And of course he’s just seeing it now, almost a full day after it aired. Harry’s not at all surprised, but he is surprised by the rush of fondness that comes over him at that.  It’s weird, because it’s not weird. Because this isn’t weird. It should be weird, probably, but it’s Zayn. _There was plenty of care taken,_ Harry texts back, then adds, _Late to the game again, Malik?_

This time, the dots are there for a good minute. Harry looks around while Zayn types. Louis and Liam are still bickering quietly. Should he tell them? Harry wonders. That Zayn saw? He knows he’d been wondering, if Zayn would watch.

 _I wasn’t sure I’d want to_ , comes Zayn’s reply at last. _You looked good. X_

 _I always look good_ , Harry corrects, but he can’t help frowning. Did Zayn really think they’d be so stupid as to say something bad about him on TV?

 _I know ;)_ Zayn replies. Harry swallows. He’s missed this. Flirting with the other boys isn’t half so much fun, even if it’s not like it was…before. Before things had to change between them, because they couldn’t keep walking that line they had been straddling, of casual dick grabs and hot eyes and fucking in the same room, stealing looks at each other as they came. Harry knows why that had to stop. But he’s missed this too, just having Zayn around to joke with. He honestly hadn’t known he would, not this much. He hadn’t known he did, until this conversation.

Another text from Zayn comes before Harry can send anything back. _Tell Liam thanks for me, yeah? That he did good._

 _You could tell him yourself._ Harry has to point out. Why didn’t Zayn, really? Harry gets why Zayn isn’t texting Louis—that’s a whole shit show he’s not touching with a ten foot pole until they both get their acts together—but Liam’s Liam. And he’s the one who spoke for them, who delivered their carefully planned statement. _Could tell the group_ , Harry adds.

The dots are there for a long time. Harry wonders what Zayn’s doing, while they’re there. Is he at home, chewing on his lip as he types, his fingers buried in one of his cats’ fur? Is he in the studio, ignoring Naughty Boy or any of their crew to find the right thing to say to Harry? Is his hair still buzzed short like it had been a month ago, would it be fuzzy if Harry stroked his hands over it, felt the shape of Zayn’s head? Would it be soft, like his longer hair was? Does he have that nose piercing in, the one he’d always talked about getting but that he’d known he couldn’t?

Finally, Harry’s phone buzzes. _Could I? I did watch the interview. Tell Louis he could calm the fuck down with his eye rolls, next time._

 _This isn’t easy for him_ , Harry feels obligated to tell him. Personally, he thinks Louis should stop rolling his eyes like that on TV, but he gets it.

 _I don’t know why everyone assumes it’s been easy for me_ comes back, right away.

 _Then why are you texting me now?_ Harry has to know. If it was so hard for him, he could have texted earlier. He could have done a lot of things differently, even if he did want to leave.

There’s another longer wait. Niall’s finishing up in the booth, they’re all going in next. It’s just. The last time they were recording in LA, Zayn had been sprawled out on the couch next to him, paging through a comic book and poking Harry with his toe ever once in a while when he was bored. It’s weird, that he’s not there.

Niall’s coming out of the booth by the time Zayn’s replied, but he goes to talk to the sound guys. _Because you said my name, even though you didn’t have to. Just like, knowing that you didn’t forget about me. It was worth Louis’s eye roll. x_

Harry’s heart thumps. Zayn’s always been able to do that, to come out of the blue with a heartbreaking sincerity. Sometimes, he remembers why that summer was so crazy, and why that line was so hard not to walk.

 _Of course we haven’t,_ Harry types—then goes back, erases. _Of course I haven’t,_ he corrects. Then, because he knows how Zayn works, and he knows that Zayn was doubting that, doubting everything, and because, most of all, it’s true, he adds, _I miss you._

There’s barely a heartbeat before, _Miss you too._ Zayn’s still typing apparently, so Harry waits. _Maybe next time you’re in London, you could come over? If you’re ever in London again aha x_

Harry snorts. And then that’s Zayn too, and Harry might not have been his first thought anymore, but he knows him, inside and out, and he knows when Zayn pretends like things don’t matter.

 _Love to._ He replies, because he would. Because he misses Zayn’s arms and his scent and just having him around, because he at least can say Zayn’s name, because he doesn’t want Zayn to think that they’ve forgotten about him. That Harry’s forgotten him. Even if it is weird. _I’ll bring my new tea_

 _Don’t you dare bring your weirdass tea into my house, Styles_ Zayn shots back, and Harry laughs out loud. But Niall’s gesturing to him, and Harry gets up.

_It’s not weird. But I have to go record. Later!_

_Later x_ Zayn replies, and Harry breathes out.

“Who was that, that was so funny?” Louis demands, reaching out to grab Harry’s phone before Harry can put it away. Harry manages to dodge him, though, and glances at the other three boys.

“No one,” he says, shaking his head. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s not fair to them. But he sort of likes that he’s Zayn’s first thought this time. That Zayn might have to work things out with the rest of the boys still, but for him, there’s a ‘later’ sitting heavy in his pocket, that feels like potential.


	60. Chapter 60

_**Prompt: "I'm like, it's hard to concentrate with you talking, 'cause I love your voice so much. It's just turning me on like crazy".** _

Harry thinks he’s won, because he can see Zayn’s lips twitch like he does when he likes Harry’s cheekiness, but Zayn just pulls up the next flashcard. “Abyssinia.” 

“Zaaaayn,” Harry whines, and lifts his head up just enough to drop it back onto Zayn’s thigh. “We can take a break.” 

“Thought you wanted to study for your midterm,” Zayn replies evenly. Harry knows him better than that, though, and he knows he’s just being a little shit. 

“That was hours ago. I’ve studied.” Harry groans. “I’ve studied loads. You’re just being a slave driver now.” 

“Just because I’m being a supportive boyfriend who want his boyfriend to pass–”

Harry makes a face again, and sits up. Zayn’s grinning at him, his eyes bright and teasing. 

“You can support me in other ways,” Harry decides, and slings a leg over Zayn’s thighs so he’s straddling them, and can look down into Zayn’s smiling face with a pout. “You won’t be needing those.” He plucks the flashcards out of Zayn’s hands, tosses them on the floor. “I’ve got something better to study.” 

“Want me to quiz you on that too?” Zayn asks, his breath catching as Harry presses his lips to Zayn’s neck. 

Harry nips at the skin like Zayn likes. “Definitely.” He sucks at the mark he’s making,  smirking as Zayn’s head falls back. “Keep talking. Told you, I love your voice.” 


	61. Chapter 61

_**Prompt: "Don't be a dick!"** _

“But I’m so good at it,” Zayn retorts. Harry pouts, but Zayn’s been learning how to stand up to that recently. He thinks he’s almost got it. 

“You could just come for a few minutes. Stand by the door.” 

“Haz.” Zayn sighs. He hates disappointing Harry, but… “It’s so not my scene. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“It’s not that bad. They’re just people, just ‘cause they have money doesn’t mean anything.” Harry pushes his hair out of his eyes, and wow, he’s really going full force with that pout. “I’d really like you there.” 

Zayn glances around. He can do this, here, in his flat, with his student messiness and his paints lying around and the furniture he’d taken mostly off the street. Harry fits here, because Harry fits everywhere. But Zayn knows he’s not like that, that he doesn’t fit, and he certainly won’t fit at the opening of this bar Harry’s been promoting, where the cover charge is probably more than he makes in a week and people pay for bottle service. Harry might be able to slum it with him, might want to on a lark sometimes, but Zayn knows better than to think it might work the other way around. 

“You won’t notice if I’m there or not,” he tries, going back to teasing. “With all your fancy friends around.”

“I always notice when you’re not there.” Harry dips his head, fiddling with his hair. “If you don’t want to come, it’s fine. It’d just–this is a big deal for me. It’d mean a lot to me if you came.”

Zayn bites at his lip, but he’s always been a sucker for the vulnerable, and Harry’s laying it on thick. “I don’t have a suit, and I can’t afford one.” 

It’s weak, and he knows it, and Harry knows it, because he lifts his head back up with a brilliant grin. “Zayn, you could wear a barrel and you’d look the most fashionable person there,” he says, offhand, and Zayn could blush, for the compliment and for how much he knows that isn’t true. “You’ll come? Really?” 

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs, and starts to think about how he can rustle up some halfway respectable clothes. “Fine. I’ll be there.” 

“That’s all that matters.” Harry’s dimples are deep in his cheeks, and that’s why he fits in Zayn’s flat as well as his flashy expensive world, that easy joy. “I just want you there with me.” 


	62. Chapter 62

_**Prompt: "I'd rather bang Avan Jogia."** _

“Really?” Nick asks, and Harry knows the incredulous delight is mainly for the listeners, but he still thinks it’s overdone. “If you had to choose between Avan and your ex-bandmate Zayn, you’d choose Avan?” 

“Sure,” Harry replies easily, even as he makes a face at Nick. He would ask him that question. Like he didn’t know quite what it would mean. “’s what I said.” 

“Hmm,” Nick hums, twisting idly on his seat. “There a reason for that? Do you have inside knowledge about Zayn that would make you less willing to sleep with him?” 

“Well, I’ve known him since I was sixteen, and we were–” 

“Oh look, we have a caller!” Nick interrupts. He’s grinning, and maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s just Harry’s finely tuned sense for these things, but somehow Harry’s not surprised at the low chuckle that comes on the air. 

“Think I’m offended, babe,” comes that voice Harry knows as well as his own. Harry closes his eyes, takes a breath, then mouths _really?_  at Nick. Nick smirks back. Harry’s never coming on his show again. Even if he knows this is going to be everywhere tomorrow, and Nick’s going to get ratings off the charts, even if it’s been years since the end of One Direction. “Throwing me over like that.” 

Harry takes another deep breath. It’s been years. He can do this. “Sorry,” he retorts, “You know I don’t love you with short hair.” 

Zayn chuckles, and for a second Harry’s twenty again, and they’re flirting their way through a show, Zayn’s laughter the only thing that mattered to Harry in the world. “So if I grew my hair out again, you’d pick me?” 

“For those of you who haven’t caught on,” Nick jumps in, holding up a hand for Harry. “This is Zayn Malik, everyone. Hi Zayn! Nice of you to call.” 

“Heard people talking about me,” Zayn replies easily. He’s probably in his house, making himself tea. Harry’s surprised he’s even awake; maybe he’s got meetings. Harry shouldn’t be imagining him right now, in his sweatpants with his hair messy and his eyes sleepy, but this is how Harry always loved Zayn best. Back when he would never have chosen anyone else to sleep with over him. Which isn’t now. At all. “Wanted to weigh in.” 

“Maybe we should see if Avan’s around too,” Nick jokes. “Give both of you a fair shot.” 

“I’m still picking Avan, though,” Harry inserts. He would. He’d rather bang anyone than Zayn, because he knows once he jumped back into that rabbit hole he’d never come out, not again. Not when every time he sees Zayn now he feels himself teetering on the edge, not when even now Zayn’s laugh is making him light up enough that he can see Nick rolling his eyes at him. “Know you too well, don’t I.” 

“Love you too,” Zayn retorts. And doesn’t it feel like he’s twenty still, hearing Zayn say that, knowing he doesn’t mean it like Harry does. “But I’ll have to see what I can do to change that, won’t I?” he purrs. 

“Family program, Zayn!” Nick says, and thank God for him. Harry can’t stop staring at the microphone. They flirt, it’s what they do, it’s how they got through interviews when they were teenagers–but maybe, he thinks. Maybe, this time, it’s real. 


	63. Chapter 63

_**Prompt: "I don’t want a 'how are you', I want you to pester me on how scared I was of you."** _

“Sorry?” Harry takes a step back, and he looks so pained from how Zayn had jumped when he’d come up behind him. Zayn huffs out a breath. 

“Stop treating me like that,” he snaps. Harry, if anything, looks even more apologetic, and he’s hunching like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. Zayn appreciates the effort, he does, but he’s so fucking sick of being treated like this. Like his attackers broke him, permanently. 

“Like what?” 

“I’m not–I’m still me.” That’s all he can think to say. The only way he can find to explain it, when Harry, who’s the one person he’d hoped would get it, who’s the one person who’s supposed to love him no matter what, is still treating him with kid gloves. “That’s not how you treat me. You should be taking the piss out of me for how much I jumped.” 

“But I should have warned you.” Harry takes a cautious step forward, and when he finally touches Zayn his hands are light on his hips, and he turns them so he can perch on the edge of the couch, so he’s shorter than Zayn. “I shouldn’t have tried to surprise you.” 

“Sure you should have, because that’s what you do.” Zayn takes a step closer, so he’s in between Harry’s legs, then pulls at his shirt until he’s standing up. Zayn’s heart goes a little faster, and not in a good way, at the sight of a man this close, looming a little, but he shoves down all memories of the dark alley and pain. He’s fine. He wants this again. “And I want my boyfriend back.” 

“But so do I.” Harry doesn’t sit back down again, but he’s so careful touching Zayn, his arms running up and down his sides like he doesn’t want to settle anywhere for fear of holding him too tight. “I don’t want, I mean, I want you to be comfortable.” 

“I am,” Zayn insists. Harry shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. 

“I hear your nightmares.” Zayn does wince, at that, because he’d hoped he at least wasn’t loud with them anymore. “You’re not okay, and I don’t want to make it worse–”

“You aren’t.” Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry smiles, at the words or the embrace, and he kisses Zayn easily, but he still doesn’t touch him. Zayn sighs. He loves Harry for his sensitivity, for how seriously he took the things the therapist had advised Zayn to tell him, but he’d really like for his boyfriend to fuck him sometime soon, to toss him around a little bit like he used to like and he will like again, he’s determined. “Now, you going to carry me to bed or not?” 

“Zayn–”

“I need this.” Zayn tries not to shy away from how intently Harry’s staring at him, like he can see through him, because he’s telling the truth, he knows it. “Please, Harry. Let me have this back.” 

Harry lets out an uncertain breath, but then he’s kissing Zayn, and it’s a little less tentative than it has been recently, at least. Zayn grabs onto him, and pulls him back, stumbling a little, until his back is against the wall and Harry’s pressed against him. And if Zayn can’t entirely tell if he’s shaking because of Harry’s lips and hands and tongue and body, or if it’s because he’s pinned down and can’t move can’t fight back can only hurt, well, he’ll make it be the former. He will. 


	64. Chapter 64

_**Prompt: "Where do baby apes sleep? In apricots!"** _

“That’s horrible,” Zayn says, but he can’t find it in him to muster up any emphasis. And Harry seems to know that; across the table, he’s just grinning over his chicken marsala. 

“Hey, my jokes are wonderful, I’ll have you know,” he tells Zayn, and licks a bit of sauce off his lips. He looks good, dressed up like this; up until now Zayn had only seen him in the park in running gear, when he stopped to chat as Zayn walked the dogs, so it’s weird to see him out of context like this. Weird, but nice, he thinks. So far at least. 

“Did your mum tell you that?” Zayn teases back. He waits a beat, to see Harry’s reaction to the teasing, but he’s still smiling, so Zayn goes on, “’cause that might have just been because she had to.” 

“Mean,” Harry shoots back. He takes another bite, then leans back. In the candlelight, he looks like something out of a painting, like something Zayn might see in the gallery. “So. Can I ask something?” 

“That bodes well,” Zayn mutters, and has a bite of his risotto to give him something to think about other than worrying about the next thing Harry’s going to say. 

“No, not bad.” Harry’s lips curve into a smile that promises the date isn’t going badly at all. “I was just wondering, why’d you ask me out now? We’ve been running into each other for a month.” He grins, probably at the pun Zayn hopes is unintentional. “I’m not complaining,” he goes on, flatteringly emphatic. “Just wondering. I was pretty close to thinking I’d have to follow you home one of these days.” 

Zayn shrugs, but he knows he’s flushing. “My mate made me,” he admits. 

Harry’s eyebrows rise. “So you’re only out with me because your mate…?” 

“No. No, I wanted to, I was going to soon, I just…” Zayn shrugs again. He probably shouldn’t talk about how unsure he sometimes is with things like this. “But my mate got sick of me talking about you, so he blackmailed me.” 

Harry blinks. Zayn understands, but he’ll get it when–if–he meets Louis. “With what?” he asks. 

“That’s your first question?” 

“Sure.” Harry leans in. His shirt’s gaping open a little, and Zayn can see the strong lines of his chest, hints of ink he’d like to follow. “I need to see what I’m worth to you, don’t I?” 

“I don’t spill all my secrets on the first date, Styles.” 

“Well then. I guess we’ll have to go on another,” Harry retorts, dimpling, and Zayn has to smile back. 

“Yeah. Guess we will.”


	65. Chapter 65

_**Prompt: "You're the toilet paper guy."** _

Harry blushes. He’d really hoped that the hot guy across the hall had forgotten that Incident, that he could start afresh this time, but apparently not. “Yeah, that’s me,” Harry admits. He tries for a self-deprecating smile, so Hot Guy is sure to know how he knows how silly it was. “Great first impression, I know.” 

“It was definitely striking,” Hot Guy admits, but he’s smiling, and he’s not half so intimidating when he’s smiling as when he was leaning against the wall watching the rest of the party like a modern James Dean. “But at least it means no one will forget you.” 

“Not sure that’s a good thing, if you’re calling me toilet paper guy,” Harry replies, and Hot Guy laughs. HIs whole face lights up when he does. Harry’s pretty sure he’s in love. 

“You could tell me your name, then I wouldn’t have to,” Hot Guy suggests, when he’s done laughing. He should never be done laughing. Except then he couldn’t talk, and Harry likes him talking too, wants to wrap himself up in his voice until it’s the only thing Harry ever hears. It’s possible Harry’s drunk. 

“But then I couldn’t call you hot guy,” he hears himself say. Maybe it’s more than possible he’s drunk. 

Hot Guy makes a face, his nose wrinkling. “That all I get? ‘s not very interesting.” 

“Would you prefer something else?” Harry asks. “I haven’t seen you do anything stupid yet, so I can’t call you that. Cheekbones? Eyelashes? Adonis? Pretty smile guy?” 

He knows he’s laying it on thick, but the guy previously known as Hot Guy smiles a little, ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed but pleased. Which is generally where Harry tends to end up with his friends, so he thinks he’s doing well. “Or you could call me Zayn,” he suggests. 

“Why?”

He snorts. “Because it’s my name.” 

“Oh.” Harry nods, like he’d totally figured that out all along. “’m Harry. Not toilet paper guy. Unless you’d prefer to call me toilet paper guy.” 

“Very accommodating of you, Harry,” Zayn tells him. Harry winks, then smirks just for good measure. 

“I can be very accommodating,” he purrs, and he knows he’s not making up the heat that flashes through Zayn’s pretty, pretty eyes. He’s pretty sure he’s made it past that bad first impression. 


	66. Chapter 66

_**Prompt: Zayn playing with Rhino in the grass then Harry taking that picture  after H bought the ice cream (inspired by H's pic getting ice cream in LA) and oh yes, he also got some ice cream for Rhino.** _

Harry left because Zayn was taking a nap (after they’d sufficiently exhausted each other), but Harry was feeling a little restless, and he’d been craving ice cream. So he kissed Zayn’s forehead, and slid out of bed, went out to get the ice cream (and get papped). Which of course took longer than just running out, because he had to choose the right flavors, and then he had to figure out which was safe for dogs because he knows that Zayn absolutely feeds Rhino from his plate even though Harry’s read it’s really unhealthy, so it’s a bit of a production. 

All of which means, when he got back, Zayn wasn’t in bed anymore. Harry dropped off the ice cream in Zayn’s freezer, then he followed the sound of barking outside. And then he just has to lean against the door frame and smile, because Zayn’s sitting on the grass in just jeans that are clearly the only thing he’d dragged on when getting out of bed, as Rhino runs around him and Zayn laughs. The sun’s sinking into Zayn’s bare skin, all the muscles that are showing now on his lean frame, and his hair’s gleaming silver, and his eyes are bright, and Harry hadn’t realized how much he missed this. Not just Zayn–but this Zayn, laughing and carefree and happy, really happy. 

He pulls out his phone, because it’s beautiful and he always loves taking pictures of Zayn and he’ll be leaving again soon for who knows how long, and he wants this. The movement must make Zayn hear him, though, because he looks up, and grins when he sees Harry, his nose crinkling. 

“Hey, babe,” he laughs, making a silly face for the camera. “Didn’t know I had a photoshoot today.” 

“Your life is a photoshoot,” Harry retorts, and Zayn laughs again, then catches Rhino, brings him close. 

“Should we pose for Harry?” he asks the dog, very seriously, like he always talks to animals and babies, like always makes Harry’s heart melt. “Should we show him all the Maliks only take good pictures?” He leans in, presses his lips to Rhino’s nose–and Harry snaps off the shot, of Zayn holding his puppy close on his lap, so soft and sun-warmed. 

“I think he’s a proper Malik,” Harry muses. He comes down from the porch, so he can sit next to Zayn. Rhino gives him a big doggie grin, licks at his hand. “Just as photogenic as the rest of you.” 

“Just like his dad, yeah?” Zayn grins as he scratches at Rhino’s ear, glancing over Harry’s shoulder at the photo. “Oh, that’s good. Can you send it to me?” 

“Um.” Harry pauses, enough that Zayn lets Rhino go, so he can go chase the squirrel he’s sure is living in the trees. “Yeah, of course.” 

“You don’t have to, it’s just a nice picture. The fans love pics of Rhino.” 

“They love pictures of you shirtless and Rhino,” Harry tells him, trying for a laugh. he doesn’t want to mess up this day, this golden happy day they have. 

But, “Harry,” Zayn says, in that way he has, like his name is a statement, and fuck, Harry’s missed this too. Missed having Zayn here. he knows it’s not the same as before, and it’s good, and Zayn’s happy, but he’d forgotten how much he needs this, needs Zayn with him. 

“I was just going to keep it for myself,” he mutters, and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. Rhino’s got a ball now, brings it to Zayn. “For like, when we were on tour again.” 

“Well.” Zayn throws the ball, then grins at Harry, the one that’s just shy of a smirk. “How about you send that to me to post, then we’ll take some that are just for you?” 

Harry laughs, can’t help it, and Rhino’s barking as he gallops back to them with the ball in his mouth, and Zayn’s smiling under the LA sun. “Not all dirty, though,” he insists. “I need some of you and Rhino too. And just–just you,” he adds. 

“Never say no to pictures of me, do I?” Zayn replies, easy. “We’ve got time, babe. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Rhino comes sprinting back, barrels into Zayn, jumping excitedly into his lap, and Zayn laughs, almost child-like, as he lets the dog cover his face in licks. 

The picture he takes then, Harry decides, is one of the ones that’s just for him. 


	67. Chapter 67

_**Prompt:** _ **_Things you said that I wish you hadn’t_ **

Zayn stares at the door. It’s an ordinary door, the number 17 on it in black, jagged lettering against the cheerful red ( _we can paint the door red for me, and you can do the numbers how you want, and it’ll be like everyone who comes in knows whose house it is_ ). Nothing extraordinary about it, like there’s nothing extraordinary about the neighborhood, or the house, or the car in the driveway ( _the back seat’s big enough for us, isn’t it? And I mean that for car seats and to fuck in)._ It’s all ordinary. It’s all like it was six months ago. 

Six months. It’s almost funny, that it’s been that long. That he hasn’t been inside the house in that long, that he hasn’t seen Harry in that long. That he hasn’t touched Harry in that long. ( _Your hands aren’t the same as mine, it doesn’t feel as good. Only you can make me feel that good)._ That Zayn could stay away that long. He hadn’t thought he would be able to, when he’d first heard about the assignment. He’d gone undercover before, but never for that long, that intensely. ( _it’s weird when you’re undercover. It’s like you aren’t you, even when you are)_. He’d thought it would be too much, that he would break without Harry there to steady him, to remind him who he was. 

But here’s the door, and the six months are there. The dogs must be in the back, because usually they’d know he was there before he came in the door, jumping on him so he had to wade his way through them to get to Harry ( _I don’t need dogs to keep me safe when you’re not here, Zayn. I just need you to come home)._ But there’s no sound. Just Zayn, and the door. And Harry inside somewhere. 

He could use the key to let himself in. But that feels…intrusive, somehow. It’s been six months. It’s his house too, but it’s been three months, and he doesn’t know if he still has a right to wear the ring that’s back on his finger after three months. ( _i swear to love you forever, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, even when you don’t clean up after yourself)_. He’s not going to take away Harry’s choice like that. 

But he doesn’t want to knock, either. That makes it feel like they aren’t what they are. That they haven’t had those five amazing years, that they didn’t shine so bright. ( _I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you. That means you can’t die, you hear me? Because I’ll never be happy again, and I know you don’t want that)_. And they had those years, and they were–they had the life. They had the house in the suburbs and two good jobs and the dogs, and the kid…well, if they just had the money for the procedure, maybe they could get a kid too. If Zayn made a little more money. If he could provide for his family better. ( _I don’t need more money I just need you! You can’t go for six months, what the fuck Zayn, how could you just agree to this without talking to me?)_. 

He will, now. He’ll be able to. This assignment was a huge career leap for him, and the director owes him a favor, and he knows that there’s a promotion coming. He’d known that, and it’s why he’d done it, and now he’s here. Standing outside this door, hoping that five good years makes up for the past six months. For him being rash and stubborn and all the things Harry fell in love with despite himself. 

He needs to go in, he knows. He can’t just stay here. So he reaches out, rings the doorbell. It clangs loudly ( _holy fuck Zayn is that the doorbell? That’s amazing, we’re getting this house)._ Zayn waits. He’ll go, if he has to, but god. God he misses this house. He misses everything in it. He couldn’t think of anything else, for six long months of lies and deceptions. 

The door swings open, and Zayn’s eyes widen. Harry looks the same as the last time he saw him, and different–he looks drawn, older, but he’s still so beautiful the most beautiful person Zayn’s ever seen ( _then you haven’t looked in the mirror, because I don’t hold a candle to you)_  and his jaw drops incredulously as he sees who it is. He sways, like he might fall over. Zayn wants to reach out, to steady him, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. 

Zayn takes a deep breath. He was staring down the barrel of a gun not twenty four hours ago, and he’s more scared now than he’s ever been in his life. 

“Can I come in?” _(if you leave to go accept this assignment, don’t ever come back. If your job means that much to you, why don’t you go marry it, because I won’t be waiting, not this time.)_

Harry’s eyes are suspiciously wet, and he stumbles forward, wrapping his arms around Zayn. “Thank God, Zayn, you’re here, you came back to me.” 

 


	68. Chapter 68

_**Prompt:** _ **_Things you said too quietly_ **

The club’s music is really fucking loud. Harry can barely hear Niall talking next to him, about the fit girl he’s about to go ask to dance; he certainly can’t hear anything else. Not that he care. It’s all the alcohol heating his blood and the music in his ears and the bass in his bones and he needs to move, to dance, to touch. He’s drunk and happy and he needs Zayn. 

“I’m going to find Zayn!” He yells, and Niall gives him a thumbs up. He’s not sure Niall heard what he said, given he heads towards the girl before Harry can leave, but he tried, and that’s what matters. 

When Harry last saw Zayn, he and Louis were going out for a smoke, so he heads in that direction. He needs to find Zayn, so they can dance and he can feel Zayn’s smile against his throat and then they can go home and fuck. Or go to the bathrooms and fuck, Harry’s not picky and that’s probably more likely. They don’t have the best history with making it home before one of them’s on their knees. 

He finds Louis, eventually, but when he manages to communicate ‘where’s Zayn’, Louis shakes his head and shrugs, then gestures to the bar. Harry huffs out a breath. Zayn doesn’t know anyone else here, where could he be? If he just yells “someone tell me where the best looking man in the room is”, will that work? 

And, Harry muses, setting off again, that would have the added bonus of everyone watching them. Harry loves that part, because, as Zayn informs him, he’s a possessive brat. Harry can’t exactly disagree. He likes everyone knowing that he can make Zayn, with his cheekbones and leather jacket and tattoos and cool look before you know he’s a total dork, make the prettiest sounds. 

He dodges a couple stumbling towards the bathroom, another who seem to just be stumbling, then–then he sees him, at one of the tables in the corner, and his heart does something that’s both too fast and too slow, because Zayn’s there and he always makes his heart beat fast, but there’s another guy there, pressed close, and his lips are basically brushing Zayn’s ear and the guy’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder, four chevrons showing on his upper arm, turned into him like he’s going to connect their lips. 

Harry swears he sees red. He storms forward, and maybe Zayn has some sort of sense because he looks up, sees Harry, and smiles, and then Harry knows his mouth is moving quickly but he can’t hear what it is and he doesn’t care. If he was violent, he thinks he’d punch the guy, for touching his boyfriend or whatever; as it is, he just taps the guy on the shoulder, waits until he separates enough from Harry’s fucking boyfriend to look at him, then pushes past him to push Zayn against the wall and kiss him, hard. 

Zayn’s lips keep moving for a second after Harry starts kissing him, trying to form words, but Harry knows exactly how to kiss Zayn and he doesn’t hold back any tricks. This is his, and everyone should see. 

Zayn gets with the picture soon enough, his fingers closing on Harry’s arm as he melts into the kiss. Harry keeps kissing him until he’s gone a little limp and pliant, and Harry can feel his cock starting to get interested at his hip. Then, and only then, does he let Zayn go. 

Zayn stays sagged against the wall. He looks a mess, his lips swollen, his hair properly mussed instead of stylistically done, and he’s the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen. For a second, he forgets about the other guy, and remembers his priorities–Zayn, somewhere private. This not kissing Zayn thing is overrated, he decides, and leans back in–

Then there’s a tap on his shoulder, and Harry turns, and the guy’s still _there,_ and he has the gall to look confused and a little red. He doesn’t get to stop Zayn and Harry from making out, they’re boyfriends, he’s the one who shouldn’t. Harry opens his mouth to tell him just that–and Zayn’s hand is on his face, turning him back to him. 

“Like I was saying,” he’s yelling, and Harry can hear him now. “This is my best friend Liam, from home. Isn’t it great he could meet us here?” 

Riiiiight. Harry does remember Zayn saying his friend was coming in, and shit, Harry had wanted to make a good impression, because Liam was important to Zayn. Right. 

He turns to Liam, gives his most sheepish smile, and sticks out his hand. “Hey!” He yells, when Liam takes it cautiously. “Nice to meet you. We can talk later!” he goes on, and lets go of Liam to grab Zayn’s wrist. He still has priorities here, and he thinks they can maybe make it to the bathroom for his apology blowjob. 


	69. Chapter 69

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said when you were drunk_ **

“You guys okay?” Liam’s standing over him, when Harry looks up from where he’s been mesmerized by his hand in Zayn’s hair for the past he doesn’t know how long. “Is he breathing?” 

Zayn makes a mumbling noise, and lifts his hand to bat in Liam’s general direction. Harry doesn’t bother to hide his giggles at Liam’s face. “He’s alive!” he points out, probably unnecessarily, but well. Zayn might have had most of the two bottles of wine open on the table, but he hadn’t had none. “You can go to bed, Liam. We’re fine.” 

“You should go to bed,” Liam tells him. Zayn shifts, his head rubbing against Harry’s thigh, and Harry’s too drunk not to think about what it could be if they did go to bed–if they went to bed together, when Zayn wasn’t this drunk, if they _went to bed_ –and it’s a dangerous thought process when Zayn’s mouth is that close to his dick, even if he’s pretty sure Zayn’s way too drunk to notice if he was properly hard next to him. 

“We will,” Harry tells him. “Come on, Zayn. Up. Bed time.” 

Zayn shakes his head, keeps his eyes closed. Harry always knows he’s gorgeous, but there’s something about him like this, sprawled out on Harry’s lap with his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed and his hair messy, that makes Harry’s heart ache with wanting him. “Not moving.” 

Liam rolls his eyes. “I can carry you, babe,” he says, and Zayn shifts, apparently interested. 

And it’s not like Harry’s jealous of Liam, like Harry thinks Liam’s interested in Zayn like that or Zayn’s interested in him, but–that’s not right. No. 

“I’ll carry him,” Harry announces. It’s important. he can do it. He eases Zayn’s head off his lap so he can stand up.

“Are you sure, Haz?” Liam puts a hand on his shoulder when he tries to lean down. “You’re not very steady sober.”

“What, do you not trust me to carry him? He’s about ten pounds!” 

“Hey,” Zayn objects. Or, Harry thinks he does; he’s slurring a lot. “’m more than ten pounds. I can carry both of you.” 

“Okay, Zayn.” Liam gives Harry his Concerned look. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that you’re both drunk, and I don’t want either of you to get hurt.” 

Suddenly, Harry’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t sound like he’s talking about just him carrying Zayn any more, and who does he think he is, honestly? 

“I won’t ‘drop’ him,” he says clearly, putting air quotes around the drop. “I’m no a horrible person, Liam, and he’s drunk, do you really think I’d do something like that?”

Liam has the grace to flush. “No, but–you’re drunk, and I know–” 

“You can go to bed, Liam, I’ve got him,” Harry insists, and he shakes off Liam’s hand to pick Zayn up. He really is pretty light, even if Harry knows it’s deceptively so and he’s stronger than he looks (Harry’s subconscious has a field that with _that_ ), but it’s easy enough to carry him. And Zayn’s like the cat he sometimes acts like, curling against Harry’s chest, ready to be carried. 

Liam gives them a questioning look, but Harry glares, and it must be pointed enough that Liam raises his hands and heads across the hall to his room. 

It’s not easy, per se, to carry Zayn to his room, because there are stares and he’s dead weight and Harry is clumsy and wants to make sure he doesn’t hit Zayn’s head on something because wouldn’t that be romantic. But they get to Zayn’s bedroom easily enough, and Harry pushes the door open with his hip. 

“I do,” Zayn mumbles, into his chest. Harry blinks, as he leans down to put Zayn down. 

“Hm?” Zayn keeps a hand in Harry’s shirt, so he has to stay close. Zayn’s lips are very red. 

“I do trust you,” Zayn repeats. His eyes flutter open, just a bit, and he smiles sleepily, openly. “To not drop me. You wouldn’t drop me.” 

“Of course not. Go to bed.” Harry untangles himself before he just gives into temptation and curls up into bed next to Zayn, lets Zayn wrap himself around him and fall asleep like that, so close and so far. “Sleep it off.” 

“Next time, I’ll carry you,” Zayn says, as Harry gets to the door. “Gonna carry you over the threshold, babe.” 

Harry’s heart thumps, and he turns to stare–but Zayn’s eyes have closed again, and he’s asleep. Of course. 

Still, it’s enough to let Harry slip quickly into sleep himself, dreaming of Zayn carrying him over a threshold with rings on their fingers. 


	70. Chapter 70

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear:_ **

“Mum?” Zayn calls, as he pushes the front door open. He knows she’s there, her car was in the driveway. Which is weird in itself, because that means someone else’s care is in the garage with his dad’s, and he doesn’t know whose that could be. But the entranceway is quiet, as Zayn kicks off his shoes. He can probably just find the box of recipes she’d told him to pick up for Harry in the kitchen, and he can grab a snack there too. Win win. He’ll text her came by, if she’s napping or something. 

He heads into the kitchen, grabbing a cookie out of the jar. The recipes are on the table, sure enough, because Zayn knows his mum. He grabs them, leafing through the old pages. Harry’s been on a bit of a cooking streak recently, and he’s been insistent on trying to perfect some of the old dishes his daadi used to make. It’s sweet, the effort he makes to learn that part of Zayn. 

Zayn finds himself smiling soppily at the recipes, so he closes the box, tucks it under his arm. There are voices in the living room, what he thinks is his father, so he heads that way, to say hello to him. 

The sight that greets him is not what he expects. His parents are sitting on the couch, and Zayn knows the back of the head facing them as well as he knows his own, the curls and the neck and the stretch of his shoulders, in one of his nicest shirts. What is Harry doing here? 

“So, what was it you wanted to talk to us about?” Zayn’s mum asks. His father’s face is impassive. “Is Zayn okay?” 

“Oh, Zayn’s fine, he’s good, that’s not–I didn’t want to scare you,” Harry says, faster than usual. Zayn knows the set of his shoulders, knows he’s nervous. He makes a move to go in, to go ask what this is about–but his mum glances up, meets his eye, and gives the most minuscule shake of her head. Zayn hasn’t gotten so far in life not listening to his mother, so he stays where he is. 

“Then what is it?” his dad asks, gentle but firm. Harry lets out a breath. 

“I love your son, very much. I’ve loved him for years.” 

“We know that, Harry,” his mum assures Harry, patting him on the knee. 

The way Harry continues makes Zayn think he’s rehearsed this. From the quirk of his father’s lips, so does he, but he lets him continue. “I love him, and he loves me, and we’re good together. He–he completes me, I think, as corny as that sounds. And I only wants what’s best for him, and I’d–I’d do anything for him, I hope you know that. It’s not like either of us are hurting for money, but if we were, I’d be sure to provide for him, and everything.” 

His mom is smiling a little, her eyes a little wet, but Zayn’s still a little lost. Why is Harry telling his family this? Shouldn’t he be telling Zayn this? 

“We know that too,” his dad says simply. His face is so even it has to be on purpose–it’s the intimidating look he puts on for the girls’ boyfriends, but Zayn had thought he’d gotten over that with Harry, after all these years. 

“Yes, sir. I mean–yes. Anyway.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I know it’s traditional, but I thought Zayn would appreciate the tradition, because I know how much he loves you. So.” Another deep breath, then his shoulders straighten. “I’d like to ask your permission to ask your son to marry me.” 

Zayn gasps. They’d talked about it, about the future together, about them and how one day–but he hadn’t–and asking his parents–he can’t–all he can do is put a hand on his mouth, like that’ll keep him standing. 

His mom’s hand is on her mouth too, and his dad’s impassive face is breaking, though Zayn can see him giving it his best shot, making Harry squirm. Zayn can hardly breathe for loving them, all of them. 

“Well?” Harry asks. “An answer would be nice…”

“For what it’s worth, you have our blessing,” his dad says, the grin breaking through. He wraps his arms around his mother’s shoulders, pulls her into him. “But I think the point might be moot, now.”

“Moot?” Harry echoes, and Yasser nods, and Harry turns, his eyes going wide as he sees Zayn.

“Haz.” It’s all Zayn can say. “Harry–”

Harry bolts to his feet. “Oh, shit, you’re–you weren’t supposed to hear this!” he protests, and it almost keeps the shine out of his smile. “I have a ring at home, and it was–I had a whole thing planned, and–”

“Shut up,” Zayn breathes, and takes a step forward, so he can wrap his arms around Harry. “Just–yes.”

“Zayn,” Harry whines, but his arms are around Zayn too, and Zayn knows his parents are there but he can’t see anyone but Harry. “I haven’t even asked you yet.” 

“Then ask me.” 

“This would be better if you’d waited so you’d have a ring,” Harry tells him, and he’s trying for petulant but his dimples are deeper than Zayn’s ever seen them, and Zayn’s still not breathing properly, because he’s too busy loving this ridiculous man in front of him, who’s dropping to one knee. 

“Zayn Malik, will you marry me?” 


	71. Chapter 71

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said when we were the happiest we ever were_ **

_you said we were forever_. 

The text comes late one night, as Harry tosses and turns in a hotel bed. He’s had more problems sleeping lately, and he knows why, but it’s nothing he can fix. So he’s tried meditation, and warm glasses of milk, and all those things you’re supposed to do, and he’s still awake at 4 AM when the text comes in. 

He reads the preview before he sees who it’s from, and after he reads it, he doesn’t need to ask. Not when the next one comes hard on its heels. 

_do you remember? you probably don’t, do you. we were about to go on break from Australia, and you were going back to LA, and I as_

it cuts off there. Harry can’t help the burst of panic, natural to him as breathing–Zayn texts in full sentences, spelled more or less right, if he cuts off…but the dots show up as typing. Harry should put down the phone, he knows. He needs to sleep, they have a show tomorrow. He needs to not think about Zayn, about how he won’t be there. 

_fuck m drunk. I asked you if we would be okay if i didn’t go to LA with you over break, and you said we were forever._

Harry closes his eyes. He remembers. He doesn’t know how Zayn could think he forgot. 

_we were so happy. remember how happy? on top of the fucking world, before everything went bad. Before i went bad. But we were still supposed to be forever, you promised, then you left_

that’s so unfair–but Zayn’s still typing.

_and before you say i left, i didn’t. I left the band but you were the one who stopped talking to me. I’m in LA haz, i’m looking at your house right now and i’m so drunk and you said we were forever, why’d you lie? if you hadn’t lied maybe i’d’ve been okay._

Harry winces, but he can’t put down the phone. He hadn’t lied, or maybe he had, but–he remembers that night, them in their bed in Australia, high on life and a little drunk and very fucked out, how he’d kissed Zayn after he said it, so sure. 

_i wanted to be forever, and its’ got nothing to do with the band, just with you. I’m in LA. You said even if i didnt go to LA wed be forver, and now im here and you arent and we arent forever and i miss you so much haz. why’d you lie?_

There are no more dots. Harry stares at the phone. He hadn’t–Zayn had texted him some, had asked him to call, but never this. Not this, not the outpouring, not the need. He’s exhausted and fuck, but he misses Zayn. 

He falls asleep before he can answer, phone clutched to his chest, and when he wakes up there’s one more text from Zayn. 

_sorry about the drunk texts. You can ignore them._

Harry takes a deep breath. But he’d slept last night, and fuck, denying how much he missed Zayn, how much he wanted him, hadn’t helped. 

_what if I didn’t lie?_ , he asks, and pushes send. 


	72. Chapter 72

_**Prompt:** _ **_Things you said after it was over_ **

“Zayn.” Harry pushes gently at Zayn’s shoulder. he should have known better than to expect Zayn to stay awake; he’s still jet lagged from flying in from LA (and isn’t that a weird switch of their roles), and Zayn hardly ever stays awake through a movie anyway. Maybe he does now, now he’s not constantly drained from their schedule, Harry doesn’t know. He can find out now, he supposes. They’re done, Zayn’s done. The world is their oyster. 

“Zayn.” He pats Zayn’s cheek. Zayn mumbles something, pushes his face into Harry’s neck. God, Harry’s missed him. “C’mon, wake up, the movie’s over.” 

“Hm?” Zayn lifts his head, blinks. Harry’d somehow forgotten how gorgeous he is, after months of texts and stolen skype calls, hidden away because Harry didn’t know how the other boys would deal with it. It had felt like they were in the beginning, sneaking around and kissing in closets, except a lot less fun because Zayn might be amazing at Skype sex, but it wasn’t the same as actual sex. “Sorry, did I miss it?” 

“You know you did.” Harry can’t help it–he’s right there, all soft and sleepy, and Harry has to kiss him. “I told you you should have gone to bed.” 

“Wanted to stay with you.” Zayn sits up and yawns, stretching, before he settles back in next to Harry. “We could go to bed,” he suggests, and his eyes go a little dark. 

Harry swallows. They’d spent the whole day after Zayn had gotten back in bed, relearning each other’s bodies, remembering the taste and feel of them. But now… “I have to go meet Niall,” he says, careful. 

No matter how careful he is, though, Zayn goes a little stiff. “Tell him I say hi.” 

“Zayn–”

“Or don’t, I don’t care.” Zayn takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make this hard for you.” 

“I’d rather you be here than it not be hard,” Harry tells him, and he means it. Having Zayn here is worth awkward conversations, worth how he’s going to have to figure out a way to tell the boys that they’re still together, or more together than they’ve ever been. 

Zayn grins at him, his nose crinkling, and yes, it’s worth everything just to see that smile in person again, to see how his eyes sparkle and his tongue presses against his teeth, like it did when they were teenagers and Harry was freshly in love. 

Then his smile shifts. “I hope something’s hard,” Zayn purrs, and throws a leg over Harry, so he’s in his lap and can grind his hips down. “’Cause I’ve got plans for you when you come back.” 

“If you’re awake,” Harry retorts, but he’s breathless. Zayn always leave him breathless. 

“Oh.” Zayn leans close, so he’s whispering into Harry’s ear, or maybe it’s his cheek, but either way Harry can feel his breath and his body and he’s so happy to have this again. “It’ll be worth being awake for.” 


	73. Chapter 73

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said when you were crying (Part[2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215246)) _**

Harry comes to slowly. It’s like waking up after drinking too much, he thinks vaguely, as his mind starts to swim back to consciousness. He remembers–things, he thinks. A fist. A gun? Driving too fast in his car, needing to get somewhere–and, of course. Zayn. 

“Harry?” and that’s Zayn’s voice, and it’s–for a second, Harry thinks maybe he forgot the past two years, Lily’s murder, how Zayn had changed, because despite how frantic he sounds, Zayn’s voice is almost soft. “Harry, you better wake up, or I swear–”

Nope, that’s the new Zayn. Sharp and threatening. When Harry opens his eyes, Zayn’s leaning over him, his head backlit by some sort of–streetlamp, he thinks?–so it looks like he’s shining. Harry’s blinding light, too bright to look at for long without getting blinded. 

“Zayn?” he asks, and pushes gingerly at the ground beneath him–concrete?–to sit up. Zayn’s hand is firm on his shoulder, pushing him back down. There’s something beneath his head that feels like leather. Zayn isn’t wearing his leather jacket, his arms–tattoos all up and down them, like he’s marking time since Lily’s murder, like he’s drawing the line between Lily’s best friend and the new Zayn–bare. 

“Don’t sit up,” Zayn tells him, crisp. His hands are cool on Harry’s forehead, even as his movements are brisk. “What the hell were you thinking, following me in there?” 

“I thought–Louis called,” Harry says. He remembers that. Being shocked that it was Louis, because Louis doesn’t like him. Harry doesn’t blame him, what with things like they are between him and Zayn, but Louis had called and said Zayn was doing something stupid and he’d know, tech support and all, and Harry hadn’t hesitated. “Said I should stop you?” 

“Yeah, or stop a Fitzpatrick’s fist with your head.” Zayn’s hand trails down his face. “If I’d needed muscle, I could have called Liam. You shouldn’t have come.” 

“I should have, because I just saved your ass.” Harry nudges Zayn’s hand aside, lifts himself up. His head spins, then settles. It’s not as bad as it could be. Once, his dad punched him hard enough to knock him out, and that had been worse than this. “What were you thinking, going in there? You should have called Liam. You should have called me.” 

“It was for a case. I had my taser.”

“Your taser doesn’t work against a gun.” 

“I–” He’s moved, so he’s not silhouetted, and Harry can see his face. At least it isn’t bruised, Harry thinks, and has to cup it with his hand. Zayn’s head moves, leaning his cheek into Harry’s hand, like it’s instinct. And isn’t that just the two of them, instinct drawing them together, all their fucked up shit drawing them apart. “I was fine, Harry. I’ve gotten myself out of worse scrapes than that.” 

“Uh-huh. And how were you planning on doing that this time?” Harry asks. A car passes, fast enough that they definitely were trying to get away from here, out of Neptune–Harry doesn’t blame them–but the headlights flash over Zayn’s face, and Harry sees it. He drags his thumb over the tearstains on Zayn’s cheeks, “Why Zayn Malik. Were you crying over me?” 

Zayn bites his lip, but he doesn’t move his head. “I don’t want you dead, Harry.” 

“You do care. I’m flattered.” 

“Of course I care.” It’s soft. Like it’s a Zayn who’d held his hand walking into a party, or the Zayn in the backseat of the Xterra, who Harry could almost believe loved him back. Or the Zayn who’d lost never have I ever, his arms still bare under his tux. “Not caring was never the problem.” 

And somehow, with that, it all comes back. All the shit outside this little bubble of light, all of Neptune’s sordidness, Lily’s murder and Harry’s dad and Duncan and Meg and how royally Harry had fucked everything up, and how despite these moments, despite these tears, Zayn doesn’t need Harry half so much as Harry needs him. Harry lets his hand drop. 

“So, did you get what you needed?” he asks instead. 

Zayn gives him a long look, like he was expecting something else. But  while Harry can’t quite delude himself that he’s not still locked into Zayn Malik’s orbit, still addicted to the adrenaline and the sharp, cleansing pain, but he has some mercy for himself. Or maybe it’s cowardice. He’s not sure. 

“Or was that whole highly entertaining jaunt into a mob bar armed only with your taser and your cheekbones only for a chance to get me under you?” Harry quips, and he can see Zayn harden. Good. Harry likes soft Zayn, likes the old Zayn, but the Zayn he loves is the one Neptune made, hard and sharp and so cold he burns, so that the gooey center is protected and only those special enough can see. 

Zayn smirks, and it’s like a knife blade, for all it’s a beautiful sight. Harry doesn’t like to look too hard into just how much he gets off on Zayn’s unrelenting competence.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and wipes the rest of the tears away. “I did. Want to come with me to see just how Max’s face looks when I break his little scheme open tomorrow?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Will it come with popcorn?” Harry asks, and Zayn’s laugh is like a gunshot in the dark. 


	74. Chapter 74

_**Prompt:** _ **_things you said that made me feel like shit_ **

“Harry?” Zayn’s incredulous, when he opens the door, and Harry grins his biggest grin. 

“Surprise!” He holds out the bottle of wine he’d grabbed on his way from the bus stop, but he can’t do anything but stare at Zayn. It’s–it’s just so good to see him again. Harry thinks he forgets, somehow, just how stunning Zayn is, with the distance of all his jaunts around the world, and it’s not like Zayn has facebook or instagram or a twitter he keeps up with for Harry to get his fix of his face. So when he comes back–there’s a magic to Zayn’s face, Harry thinks. He’s changed since they were sixteen and falling in love, or when they were nineteen and Harry made it big and started traveling, but he’s still so unquestionably Zayn, all hazel eyes and cheekbones. Any minute now, he’ll smile, his tongue tucked behind his teeth, and he’ll hug Harry, and then Harry will strip him out of those jeans and sweater and he’ll see how else he changed. That’s what happens every time Harry comes back. 

Except–for once, Zayn doesn’t smile. His eyebrows draw together instead, and his bites on his lip like he’s nervous. “You didn’t call.”

“I never call.” This is–not what’s supposed to happen. Harry’s been looking forward to this for weeks, for months, since he left Zayn. No one’s as good as Zayn, no matter who he meets, who he fucks. No one will ever be Zayn. “Is this a bad time?”

“A bad…”

Then it comes, from behind the door. “Everything okay, babe?” 

Harry freezes. A man’s voice, warm and comfortable, in Zayn’s apartment. Calling him babe, like he has the right to. 

“Zayn?” He asks, and he can hear his voice break, even as the guy comes up behind him. 

He’s not bad looking, tall and blonde and all those good things. He rests his hands on Zayn’s hips a little tentatively, not like Harry does, like he knows what he’s doing, but he still touches Zayn like that, and Harry’s on the other side. 

Zayn lets out a breath, and Harry doesn’t need to know him as well as he does to see the tension in his shoulders. “Sorry, babe. Harry, this is Steve. Steve, Harry. He’s an old friend.” 

“Like I don’t know who Harry Styles is,” Steve grins at Zayn. “I didn’t think you actually knew him, knew him. Like, he comes by knew him. You’re an English teacher.” 

“Yeah, we go way back,” Harry puts in. He doesn’t know what’s happening. “Old, good friends. Very good,” He adds, and Zayn’s eyes narrow in warning. 

“Would you…” he turns to Steve, sliding his arms around his neck. Harry’s hands clench over the bottle of wine. “I haven’t seen Harry in months. Sorry, but…”

“Yeah, of course. We can reschedule.” He pauses, his gaze flicking to Harry, but there’s no possessiveness in the way he kisses Zayn, just maybe a hint of uncertainty. Not like how Zayn and Harry kiss, that Harry has written songs about. 

Then Zayn lets him go. “I’ll call you,” he tells Steve, who nods as he edges around Harry. 

“I look forward to it. Nice to meet you Harry, even if it was briefly. Maybe we can get together sometime while you’re here, I can hear all the stories of Zayn’s misguided youth.” 

“Oh, I do have stories,” Harry agrees, shaking his hand. He doesn’t squeeze too strongly. He doesn’t need to, when Zayn’s glaring at him. He has stories. Their first time, fumbling in Zayn’s bed. The time after Harry had gotten his deal, when they’d gotten too drunk off of wine to fuck that night, but Harry had woken up to Zayn’s lips on his cocks and him telling him congratulations in the best way Harry’d ever heard. Zayn after his grandfather’d died, when he’d cried into Harry’s shoulder and then clutched his hand hard during the funeral. He has stories. What does Steve have? 

Other than Zayn, a nagging voice in his subconscious says, as Steve leaves and Zayn silently steps back to let Harry in. Harry follows him to the living room. It has a few new paintings, one Harry’s sure Zayn did, but other than that it’s the same too. There’s the same couch, that he’d ridden Zayn on last time he was home, until Zayn had been a babbling mess. He sets down the bottle of wine before he turns to Zayn. 

“So, he seems nice,” Harry says. “Very Captain America, right? That’s what you always dreamed of.” 

“He is nice,” Zayn agrees. He’s got the edge to him that means he’s spoiling for a fight. 

“Bit of a surprise, though,” Harry goes on. He just–he just wanted to kiss Zayn again. That’s all he ever wanted. Not have fucking Steve where he should be. 

“Was it?” Zayn asks, and he sounds half surprised and half venomous. “What do you think I do when you aren’t here, Harry? Do you think I just wait while you go off and fuck half the planet?” 

The words stick like a knife, like a pan to Harry’s head. 

“You do, don’t you?” Zayn laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I’m just sitting here waiting for you to give me the scraps when you deign to visit. Thanks, Harry. Really flattering.” 

“It’s not…” Harry trails off, because–he hadn’t thought that, exactly, he just–he hadn’t thought anything. Hadn’t thought about life going on here at all, when he wasn’t here. That Zayn wouldn’t be here, when he came back. “What about us?” 

“What are we?” Zayn demands, and Harry doesn’t know when he was on the defensive, but it feels like he is. Like Zayn’s been holding this in for years and Harry never knew, never noticed. Like Harry’s been so selfish he didn’t see that things had changed since they were teenagers. “I know you aren’t my boyfriend, you made that clear when you left. I know you aren’t my friend, because friends keep in touch with their friends. So what are we, other than people who fuck around when they’re in the same place?” 

Harry moves without thinking, all instinct and desperation, and the single-minded need to make Zayn stop talking, stop saying that, stop making him feel this way. To stop cheapening what they are, what he is to Harry, because he’s been Harry’s constant since they were sixteen and no one’s Zayn, no one could be, and if Zayn doens’t know that–

He kisses Zayn with all of that in him, his hands on Zayn’s face to keep him there, their bodies pressed together. Zayn doesn’t move for a second, but then he’s right there too, kissing Harry back just as hard, his hand tightening in Harry’s hair just like he likes it and a moan into Harry’s mouth when Harry bites at his lip like he likes. 

“That,” Harry says, a plea and a declaration and a vow all at once, “That, Zayn, that’s what we are. And you can’t say that’s nothing.” 

Zayn blinks at him, his eyes clouded but not soft, the tension gone except for in the corners of his mouth. “What is that worth, though?” he asks, his voice deceptively soft. “What’s that worth, when you’re gone?” 

“Everything.” Harry will make that true. Will fix this. “It’s worth everything, Zayn. I promise.” 


	75. Chapter 75

_**Prompt: Welcome To Nightvale AU** _

1) The night is hot. Or is it? temperature is simply the body’s reaction to the air, which is a reaction to the clouds and the earth and the turning of the sun, so if by hot you mean, the earth exists at such a point that you, at this moment, feel the heat on your skin and the sweat running down your arms and a warm blanket over you, and that this moment will never happen again, that this moment, that this moment of heat, is now gone forever–then yes, it is hot. Welcome, to Night Vale. 

2) Did you hear? There is someone new in town! He’s a scientist, and says he’s here to study the town, because according to him it is an anomaly–he’s new, he must not know that we only have anomalies every other Wednesday, if they aren’t cancelled. He’ll learn. But anyway, he’s–oh, I don’t have words for him. He’s _perfect_. He’s got _perfect_  hair and _perfect_ eyes and tattoos and oh, listeners. Oh, you residents of Night Vale, of this town where the scientist Zayn has come to stay, oh, you wonderful beings blessed with his presence, oh, listeners. He makes me feel like I’m young again, touching a nuclear reactor for the first time. His hair, listeners. His _hair_. I wonder if I’m even allowed to think of it, or if it’s like the dog park, which of course I’m not thinking about. 

3) Listeners, you’ll never guess what happened today! Zayn, scientist Zayn of the perfect hair and eyes and tattoos,  _talked_ to me. I was taking my morning constitutional along radon canyon, shading my eyes so the sun coming over the thing that is totally not a mountain wouldn’t blind me, when suddenly he was there! Just there, like he had appeared out of nowhere! He hadn’t, of course, because i checked and he doesn’t have the requisite teleportation permits, but it seemed like he did. And he said my name–Harry, he said, and oh, listeners, the way he said my name–Harry, right? You’re the radio show host. Yes, I am! I responded. And you’re the scientist! I was a little in blown away by his eyes, like the frozen amber of a bug trapped forever in a tree’s sap, frozen in time, so I wasn’t at my most articulate. Anyway, we made a little more small talk, and I don’t know, listeners. I’m a pretty likable guy, you know? People like me, even when they aren’t required to by law. But maybe he’s shy, or maybe things are different in Brad-Ford, where he comes from, but I don’t know…But, oh. the way he said my name. 

4) Zayn–wonderful, exquisite Zayn, whose voice is chocolate and whose smiles is as powerful as a thousand dying suns–just called! As you all know, we’ve been talking more, and I’ve been showing him around the sights, because he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t stumble somewhere he’s not supposed to be–he wanted to go to the _library_ , dear listeners, can you believe it? So, anyway, I’ve been showing him around, and we’ve been talking, and he’s just as amazing in person, you know? Some people are beautiful but then you start to talk and you realize that their insides are all gross and then you need to smear them on their outsides so everyone knows, but Zayn’s not like that. Zayn’s insides are the same golden radiance as his outsides, or what I’ve seen of them. I could ask the secret police to investigate, but I don’t want him turned inside out. That looks nasty. Anyway, waht I meant to say is–Zayn called! He wants to draw me. Me! Little old radio host me, set down in stone for the ages to see and hum over and claim meaning out of. He wants to draw me! Can you imagine? 

5) I–I have no words. All my words are gone, swallowed by the ravening beast of my happiness, torn into shreds and scattered upon the desert sands, for today, dear, dear listeners–today, I asked Zayn on a date! And he said yes! I had been worrying for a while, because as you know, he’s not from around here, and he sometimes made weird faces at normal things, like using arterial blood to make your bi-monthly check ins with the City Council, or how the best way to get news is sometimes to yell loudly until the secret police outside knock on your door to shut you up. So I wasn’t sure what he would do? But I showed up at his lab in my best leggings and glowing shirt, the one with the flamingos, because he’d said he’d liked birds, once. So I showed up, and he smiled at me! And welcomed me in! And we walked and we talked, and he showed me all the things he was working on, and then I saw that there was a picture on his notebook at his workstation. And you’ll never guess what was on it–a picture of me! He’d been drawing me, again! He blushed–have I mentioned how pretty and elegant his blush is?–and closed the sketchpad, but not before I saw it. I didn’t even ask how he’d done it, given the government ban on writing utensils. It gave me the courage to finally ask him to dinner! I asked if he wanted to go to Big Ricos, and he suggested the Diner instead, and I agreed, and he blushed and I blushed and we’re going on our first date tonight! I bet he’ll wear his finest lab coat. I have never been so happy in my life!

6) The sun is setting. It sets, falling behind the horizon, lost forever. But the day is not lost. The day is still here, it has simply moved, and now we are in the dark. But in the dark, hands touch–over an ice cream at a diner, with perfect hair and a perfect smile and a little old radio presenter. Hands touch, and hold, and though the sun sets, the hands still hold tight. Hold tight, hoping. Hoping that the day will come again. 

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight. 


	76. Chapter 76

_**Prompt: Dystopia AU** _

  * Harry dreams of songs, sometimes. Of a voice. Not the sort of song they’re supposed to hear, to sing, but songs with a deep throbbing bass that makes something in him pulse too, low and dirty and all those things you aren’t supposed to feel, that make you unproductive and selfish. 
  * Zayn knows there’s something wrong with him from the day he was born. He never quite fit in, and what’s more, he’s never wanted to. He’s sixteen when he gets the first bit of ink etched onto his skin, sneaking off to a place where cameras can’t follow. It’s a declaration, of sorts, even if he knows it’s stupid to make one so visible. but he needs something to remember, that he wants more than what he’s supposed to. 
  * They’ve known each other since they were kids, in an incidental sort of way. But Zayn’s always been solitary, wary of anyone who fits in even while trying not to draw attention to how he doesn’t, and Harry’s the poster child of everything they’re supposed to be. So they don’t really say anything until one day, Harry happens to get a glimpse of a line of ink on Zayn’s back, where he shouldn’t have been looking anyway. He should mention it to a Proctor, he knows–but it makes him feel like the music in his dreams, and so he doesn’t. 
  * Zayn’s wary of Harry’s interest, sure he’s going to turn him in for his rebellious tendencies. But then one day Zayn hears Harry humming, as they walk through the streets together, and even though Harry stops as soon as he notices what he’s doing, Zayn knows then that Harry doesn’t fit either. 
  * Zayn kisses Harry after the first meeting he takes Harry too, in the shadows where Zayn knows there’s a dark spot in the cameras. Harry just blinks at him when Zayn tugs him into the shadows, not knowing what he’s asking for, what he wants–but when Zayn kisses him suddenly he knows, and he’s kissing back. This is the music in his dreams, he thinks. This is what he’s not supposed to know. And maybe there’s a reason for that, because nothing else matters to him in those moments other than Zayn, and that’s not allowed, and Harry doesn’t care. 




	77. Chapter 77

_**Prompt: Gangster AU** _

  * Harry is the heir, raised to run the business. He’s good at it too, he knows; knows how to grease the right palms and smile at the right people and when nothing but a gun will do the trick. he’s got plans for his family. They’re going places. 
  * Zayn thinks he’s cute. It’s ironic, a bit, that that’s his first impression, but it is. He’s cute, this man he bumps into at a cafe where he’s getting a coffee before school. Cute, and he apologizes nicely for his clumsiness, and if his hand lingers on Zayn’s elbow it’s not unwelcome. He feels like money, like he’s an escape from the world Zayn grew up in, and Zayn accepts his number (so he can send the bill for cleaning his shirt, even though it’ll be about fifty cents) with pleasure. 
  * Harry jumps through so many hoops to keep Zayn from knowing what he does. Zayn’s a teacher, for god’s sake, he teaches English and Art and he’s beautiful and there’s just a hint of sadness in his eyes and Harry wants to keep him forever and keep him smiling at Harry forever like he’s good. Harry’s never wanted to be good quite as much as when Zayn’s smiling at him like he thinks he is. 
  * Zayn knows from the first date. He’s not stupid, and Zayn knows what it looks like when a man’s used to carrying a gun. He knows the way people watch their surroundings when violence is always lurking. But Harry’s sweet with Zayn, and he’s got an edge to him that all of the nice boys Zayn’s met since he left lacked, one that keeps Zayn interested like nothing else could. So Zayn lets him keep his charade, if it makes him happy, because Harry makes Zayn happy. 
  * They’ve been going out for two months before Zayn shoots a man. Harry gapes at him, at his sweet, untouched Zayn with a gun in his hand like he knows how to hold it and his lips set, staring down at the goon sent to put pressure on Harry while he was on a date. Zayn just gives the body a glare, then turns to Harry. “I assume you can make this go away,” he says, and then when Harry’s still staring, he shrugs. “I have my secrets too.” 
  * (his secrets are his sealed juvie file. His secrets are all the things he ran from, the world hundreds of miles from this one that he could have ruled if he wanted, the one that keeps sucking him back in. His secrets are hands that don’t shake when he shoots a man, and a family he doesn’t dare call, and a life he left. His secrets are the things he doesn’t tell Harry for months, until he has to, because the secrets are what keeps him safe.)
  * (Harry loves him more for the secrets. For the sadness in his eyes and how he got out. He’ll keep him out, he swears. He won’t let it touch him again. He’ll drape him in jewels and silk and silver, and none of the ugly he left behind will ever get near him. Zayn smiles sadly, and strokes his cheek. It’s sweet. But Zayn knows better. He knows it’ll come back for him soon)




	78. Chapter 78

_**Prompt: James Bond AU**_

  * The first time Zayn meets Harry, he’s convinced it has to be a joke on the new guy in Q department. Their deadliest agent can’t actually be this joking, dimpled man with limbs that looks more like a baby deer than anything! Later that mission, though, Zayn’s in Harry’s ear as he learns that Harry’s very, very good at being underestimated, and it’s often deadly to those who do it. Zayn doesn’t again. 
  * Harry very purposefully always ‘forgets’ to take out his in-ear when he’s seducing someone. He loves hearing Zayn’s breaths in his ear as he purrs out compliments, as he leads them upstairs. Loves to imagine Zayn’s listening as he fucks them, that Zayn’s thinking about what it might be like to be with Harry in his bed. Zayn never says anything about it, so Harry figures it’s worth it. 
  * Zayn’s sweet, Harry realizes, a little too late for him. He’s sweet and he makes the gadgets and runs the computers but he’s not quite hardened yet, and that worries Harry, but it also just makes Harry fall deeper into this rabbit hole of feelings for his handler. He doesn’t want Zayn to ever have to become hardened. He thinks he’d do anything to stop that from happening. He’s okay with that. 
  * Zayn’s a little terrified of just what he’d do for Harry. Harry once dropped off the map for a few days, and Zayn went crazy trying to find him. He popped up before long, thank god, and Zayn yelled at him for a good twenty minutes before Harry had smirked and told him he missed him too. But if he hadn’t…Zayn would burn the world to the ground for Harry, if it would save him, if it would avenge him. He’d do it in a heartbeat, and that scares him as much as it thrills him. 
  * In the end, it’s Harry who decides he doesn’t care what this could do to him, to them; doesn’t care if this is signing his death warrant in the blood he’ll use to protect Zayn with his life. He kisses Zayn with blood still in his mouth from the split lip he got from a mission, with Zayn’s fingers still twitching from the keystroke he’d used to derail a train, and it tastes like death and love. Harry’s never known the difference anyway. 




	79. Chapter 79

_**Prompt: Pretty Woman AU** _

  * Zayn got into the whole rent boy thing to help his family. He just didn’t want to be a burden on them anymore, didn’t want them to pay for him. But it turns out no one was hiring and he didn’t have many marketable skills other than his face, so somehow, this became his life. Standing on streetcorners, getting into strange cars. Sketching things in his off hours, not because he thinks it’ll get him anywhere but because he needs something. Spraying color onto walls when he really needs the outlet, but he can’t risk getting busted for this, not when that’s always a risk for his job. 
  * The only thing Harry can think when the hooker gets into his car is of course this would happen to him. it sounds like it comes out in Niall’s voice, too. Of course he’d accidentally pick up a hooker, and of course he’d be actually gorgeous too. 
  * Harry looks at him differently than most guys do, when he’s out. Not that he’s not looking at Zayn like he wants him, because he is, Zayn’s not stupid, but he’s not looking at Zayn like he owns him, at least. It’s what makes Zayn unbend, at least a little. Zayn’s sick of being owned. 
  * Harry’s never been angrier than when he realizes that little fucking shitbag tried something with Zayn.That he thinks he’s owed something, that Zayn’s just some body he can use–and he’s never been prouder of Zayn than when he sees he fought him off, that he didn’t give in. Or is it pride? Harry can’t tell if it’s pride or possessiveness, that Zayn only lets Harry touch him, and he doesn’t much care, because he’s too busy trying not to explode on the fucker. 
  * Zayn settles into Harry’s life surprisingly easily. His art’s good, Harry’d known that, and more than that Harry has the right connections to get him started. And sure, maybe he doesn’t always know what to say, but he doesn’t really have to, with a smolder like that. Zayn distrusts that ease, though. He’s waiting for the other foot to drop for years. 




	80. Chapter 80

_**Prompt: Time Travel AU** _

  * It’s weird, the perspective time travel gives Zayn. on the one hand, sometimes it calms him, because he sees the future and happens upon all five of them hanging out together, or he goes back and remembers what things were like. But it also means he has these holes, and they take him by surprise sometimes, when things happen that he didn’t expect. It makes him bad at dealing with those surprises. 
  * Zayn has nightmares he never jumps back to the right time. He’ll wake up and fumble on the lights, turning Harry over to trace his tattoos and his hair, using that as a milestone to assure him he’s at the right time. It wakes Harry up, and he knows by now to let Zayn do it, to tell him about all the things he did yesterday, until Zayn settles back into himself. 
  * Zayn managed to keep it a secret for all of a month, after they got together as a band. In retrospect, he thinks that’s pretty good. Especially given he was outed by his future self appearing in the middle of a band get together. That made them all believe him pretty quickly. 
  * Harry has a lot of fantasies about Zayn somehow coming back or forward during sex. It hasn’t happened yet. He has hope. 
  * A few days before Zayn finalizes leaving the band, he jumps forward. He’d been delaying, not wanting to take that final step, too terrified for what it would mean for his friendship with the boys and his career and him and Harry and just–everything. But he jumps, and he’s in a den at what’s probably NIall’s, if he had to guess. There’s what sounds like a barbecue happening outside, and Zayn goes outside to look. All five of them are there, Niall at the grill, Liam and Louis kicking around a football, Harry trying to convince Niall to let him grill something. And he’s there too, his arm around Harry’s waist. Zayn’s about to slip away again, but then his future self turns, and smiles at him, his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. Zayn signs the papers leaving the band the next day. As long as that’s still there, everything will be okay in the end. 




	81. Chapter 81

_**Prompt: Parent Trap AU** _

  * It just happened so fast, the first time around. They met and it was like lightning, the attraction, the need, the lust. The love too, because that was real, they both know it, they’ll both always know it. But it was whirlwind, so hot and fast it burned out, and pretty soon they had adopted infant twins and neither of them was getting any sleep and Harry wanted to live in his winery in NAPA and Zayn wanted to stay in London where his career as an artist was starting to take off and then they were screaming at each other and then Harry was leaving. 
  * Zayn waited weeks for him to come back. he’d always come back before. He waits weeks, staring at a blank canvas like Harry would walk out of it. Even once the papers come, he doesn’t quite believe Harry’s really gone. He doesn’t believe it for real until little Annie is five.
  * Sometimes, Harry can’t look at Hallie. He loves her, more than life itself, he does, but sometimes he looks at her and he can’t help but remembering when he and Zayn had been picking out colors for the nursery. He rubs his fingers over the place where his ring had sat for so few days, and tries to forget again. 
  * Even when Harry sees Zayn with his new boyfriend–fiancee, he’s reminded every time he sees the ring on Zayn’s finger at this resort he’s going to kill Hallie for getting them both too–he doesn’t really have any hope. They ended for a reason, and that’s not going to change. It doesn’t mean he can look at Zayn and his fiancee for long. It doesn’t mean he can help himself from smiling, big and wide like he always did, when Zayn laughs at his jokes. 
  * Zayn knows from the moment he sees Harry that his engagement is over. Not because the guy isn’t great, but because he’d forgotten what love could be. What love should be, maybe, even if it burned out. But what he feels now doesn’t nearly approach that lightning strike, even if it takes him a while for him to admit it, to him or anyone else. 
  *  The twins also know from the instant Harry and Zayn see each other they’re going to succeed. Zayn’s a shit liar, and Hallie can read her dad like a book. 




	82. Chapter 82

_**Prompt: Harry is a preschool teacher & Zayn's a hot dad AU** _

1) Harry never really set out to be a preschool teacher. He’s still not entirely sure if that’s where he’s going to be forever–he likes kids, and he especially likes kids at this age, but sometimes he wonders if this is all there is to life and if he doesn’t have more to do. But he’s comfortable at his preschool, and he has been for years, and it’s all settled and easy, basically the same every year except for new kids. 

2) Zayn is not the first hot parent Harry’s ever met. He’s maybe the hottest of the hot parents, but he’s met other hot parents before. Maybe none of the other hot parents had cheekbones quite that sharp, or eyelashes quite that long, or wore leather jackets like they were designed perfectly for him, but he’s become inured, over the years. He’s laughed at other teachers who got crushes on parents, lectured them about how risky it is. It is risky. He knows it is. It’s easy for it to get complicated. But it’s hard to remember that when Zayn’s picking up his son and listening intently to the boy’s retelling of the day and throws a smile over his shoulder to Harry. 

3) It’s not that Harry flirts. He wouldn’t do that, because he is a professional. Or well, he doesn’t flirt more than he flirts with all the parents, because it tends ot make harried moms and dads smile. But he doesn’t even know if Zayn is single, so he is not flirting, as he tells Niall, who works with him. It’s a lie of course, but if he says it enough it might be true. It’s always Zayn who picks up his son, anyway, but as he has very sneakily established that Zayn works from home, that could just be convenience. Zayn wears too many rings for that to help. Zayn might be flirting back, when they chat at pick up, but Harry can’t quite tell how serious he is about it. 

4) It’s not why he has the kids draw pictures of their families, but it is why he leans over Zayn’s son’s drawing for a moment more. Just to see who’s in the picture. He sees a man with dark hair and some squiggles on his arms– “Daddy’s tattoos,” Harry’s informed, and doesn’t swoon at all at the knowledge that there are so many of them–and what looks like three dogs, and that’s it. “That’s your family?” Harry asks, and the boys nods. Which doesn’t give Harry the full picture, but it does seem to imply singleness. Which implies that flirting isn’t really that risky. 

5) He runs into Zayn and his son at a pizza place, a few weeks later. It’s total coincidence (Or maybe fate, he’ll later insist), but definitely not something he planned. Just like he didn’t plan the excited, “Mr. Harry!” or getting called over and somehow they’re all eating together and Zayn is grinning at him as he wipes sauce off his son’s face and beaming at his child and Harry is almost certain he watches when Harry licks the excess sauce off his lips. It’s at the end of that night, when the adults have been abandoned in favor of riding the mechanical horse at the entrance, that Harry decides fuck it, he’s doing it. If it gets weird it gets weird. He’s been wanting something new to happen. This is certainly it. So he asks Zayn on a date, and Zayn bites his lip and grins and tells him, “I was wondering when you’d make a move.” 

6) All the other teachers laugh at him and lecture him in revenge. But Harry gets to keep Zayn and his son long past the year he’d been his teacher, so really, he thinks he can stand a bit of teasing. 


	83. Chapter 83

_**Prompt: uni boyfriends au where they've just always been together, zaynandharry are just accepted as a thing that is, like the sky is blue.** _

  * They meet the first day of college. There’s some orientation thing, and Harry knows he should probably be paying attention to what to do in case of a fire, but instead he can’t look away from the boy sitting a few rows down from him, who’s possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, all big eyes and dark hair with a blonde streak in the front. it should look stupid, but he pulls it off. he’s talking to another boy, with curly hair almost like Harry’s, and the boy says something to the beautiful boy and he laughs and his tongue presses against his teeth and Harry will later say he fell in love right then. 
  * No one ever asks anyone out, per se. Harry approached Zayn, and he’s been hardcore flirting since the start–he’s not even trying to be subtle, but Zayn thinks that’s kind of cute–and Zayn’s not been much less enthusiastic.But both of them are still in the process of working up the nerve to actually ask each other out properly when they’re both at a party, and get drunk, and well, one thing leads to another and they wake up together. They just sort of never stop waking up together, after that. 
  * They do fight. no one ever believes it when they say that, other than maybe Liam or Louis, who are Zayn’s roommates, or Niall, who’s Harry’s, but they really do–it just tends to be little nitpicky passive aggressive things that rarely lead to big blow out fights. Then those fights clear the air, until they’re back to neutral again. 
  * Zayn has a habit of staying too late at the studio, because he gets absorbed in his work. Harry has a habit of staying too late at Zayn’s studio, because he learned quickly that getting Zayn to come home is a lost cause, but if Harry curls up next to him and falls asleep there, Zayn will stop what he’s doing to get them both home. 
  * Harry flirts with everyone, and everyone wonders why Zayn doesn’t get jealous, because Harry’s such a social butterfly and it’s pretty well known Zayn isn’t. Zayn isn’t, though. He knows Harry will come home to him. Harry always laughs when someone asks him about that, too. “Have you seen Zayn?” he’ll grin, and probably go throw himself onto his boyfriend’s lap. “Why would he ever have to be jealous of anyone, with a face like that?”
  * Both their parents worry a bit, about after college, that they won’t curtail each other, planning around each other. But they aren’t worried. they know where their future is. And it’s with each other. 




	84. Chapter 84

_**Prompt: Now You See Me AU** _

1) Zayn had thought he’d seen everything. A good magician is never awed, is never fooled. They’re the ones who are the masters of the slight of hand, who look where no one else is. And Zayn’s a good magician. Zayn is one of the best. Zayn probably is the best at designing tricks, he can say without vanity, even if sometimes his delivery can be a little faulty. But then there’s Harry, and Harry–Harry is the best, and it’s irresistible.

2) The crew comes together more or less on accident. Harry knows people, and he can collect them when he needs to. His horsemen, with quick hands and quicker tongues. They’re good, the four of them, together. Harry knows it. They can take down the Vegas Strip or a bank. He doesn’t need more. But Zayn’s got a smile like he knows something and eyes Harry can’t understand and he listens to Harry talk patiently but never gives into him, and Harry didn’t know he’s been missing him but he has.

3) Harry’s never met anyone who he wants to _impress_  like he wants to impress Zayn. He’s pulling off all his best tricks, big and small–normal people get flowers. Zayn gets flowers that burst into glitter as he touches them, gets light climbing into the sky on a never ending ladder, gets everything Harry can think to give him, everything he can think to do so that Zayn will admit Harry’s the best, that Harry’s impressed him.  He’s spent his whole career, his whole life, trying to get people to look where he wants them to, and right now all he wants is for Zayn to look at him. 

4) Zayn notices, of course. It’s hard not to. He’s just not entirely sure why Harry’s fixated on him, and that makes him wary. A magician always has an ace up his sleeve, and Zayn can’t see Harry’s. Not to mention, of course, that Harry, for all his skill, is also a bit of an asshole, with a surprisingly sharp tongue and a reputation for leaving people behind. But Zayn’s an asshole too, knows it, and that’s not what scares him away. He just wants to find out how Harry works. How the magic of one of his world’s greatest showmen happens. If only he knew what that ace was. If only he knew what the final trick would be. 

5) “I don’t know how we do this,” Liam says, looking at the plans for the bank, and Niall nods. “I think we need another person, at the least, and then–I don’t know, Haz, you got a plan?” Harry looks at the plans, and at his crew, and smiles. He does, in fact. He has a plan. He has a final trick that will impress Zayn at last. 

6) Zayn knows he shouldn’t do this–he’s a magician, not a thief–but there’s the challenge of Harry’s smile and the trick itself and it’s new and fun and he’s never been able to resist a challenge. He comes in. Meets Harry’s crew, finds himself liking them more than he expected, Louis with his sharp smile and noise that means you don’t notice where his hands are, Niall and his charm and innocent face that hide a mind sharper than Zayn’s ever known, Liam and his narrow eyed persistence and self-deprecating humor that’s a front for a deadly focus. He likes them. Harry, though–Harry’s still there, pressing close to him as he explains the plan, grinning at the trick Zayn lays out for him, laughing delightedly as Zayn walks him through it, his eyes lit up with the glory of it. A few mugs of tea when Zayn’s working late, left at his elbow when Harry leaves. A “knew you were the right man to bring in,” when he shows them how they’ll do it, and the way Zayn finds himself blushing no matter how he hates it. 

7) Zayn’s heart’s beating fast with adrenaline like he does after a good show, and that’s what this was, a good show, the best show, a bigger house than any he’s ever performed for, a bigger hurdle to leap than any he has before. Louis and Liam and Niall are whooping, counting their cash, but Harry’s quiet, looking at him in that way he does sometimes, like he’s figuring out all of Zayn’s tricks. “Told you it would work,” Zayn laughs at him, but Harry shakes his head. He gets up, paces forward, towards Zayn, and suddenly Zayn can’t breathe. 

“That wasn’t the trick.”

“Oh?”

Harry shakes his head. “That was the misdirect,” he tells Zayn, and his hand is on Zayn’s cheek, clever fingers slipping over his skin. Zayn knows he has an ace up his sleeve still, even after these weeks of working with him. It’s there. He just–fuck, he’s not sure he cares anymore. 

“What was the trick, then?” 

“This,” Harry tells him, and then they’re kissing, and it feels like magic. 

8) People ask Harry, later, what the greatest magic trick he ever pulled off was. He always steals a look at Zayn when he answers, who rolls his eyes back. “Well, you know, love’s the trickiest magic there is.” 


	85. Chapter 85

_**Prompt: AU where zayn and harry make one of those pacts where if they haven't met someone by 30 or some other odd age they would get married. Just thinking about them getting to that point and realizing they are 200% okay with this because they love each other regardless and just doing the rest of their life together sounds like the best thing that could happen to them** _

They made the pact years ago, when they were like twenty and 30 sounded ancient (well, 30 and 31). Now they’re getting up there, and they get boyfriends and girlfriends and some stick, some stick for a while even–Zayn’s engaged, even–but none of them end up lasting. Then Zayn turns 30 and Harry 29, and Harry, well…it’s getting closer, and he’s started to think, lately, that spending the rest of his life with Zayn sounds pretty great, really. That spending it with his best friend, who he’s loved forever, who knows him inside and out, who laughs at his bad jokes and steadies him, who’s the most gorgeous person Harry’s seen, well. That’s not a bad idea. He just has to make sure Zayn stays single for a year. It shouldn’t be hard, probably. Except of course it is and there are misadventures and Harry realizes he’s properly fallen in love and has a crisis but also makes sure to distract Zayn whenever he seems like he might be looking at someone or subtly looking more boyfriendy when someone’s looking at Zayn. And maybe they fight about it on Zayn’s 31st birthday, yelling at each other for some reason. but then it’s Harry’s 30th birthday, and Zayn’s looking at Harry and Harry’s looking at Zayn, but he doesn’t want to the first to say it. Maybe Zayn thought it was a joke, all those years ago. But then, “So, I guess it’s forever then, yeah?” Zayn says, and he’s smiling, his tongue pressed to his teeth. “Looks like you’re stuck with me by default.” 

Harry can’t think of anything he’d like more.  


	86. Chapter 86

_**Prompt: ”I still have you in my phone under ‘don’t call’ even though it’s been years and I just accidentally sent you a rickroll oops” AU (particularly in the context of Zayn leaving and them losing touch)** _

  * Zayn changes Harry’s number one month after The Fight. he still thinks of it like that, because they’d fought plenty over their relationship, kept things interesting Zayn had used to say, but this was The Fight. The one that ended in ‘fine if you want to go to New York don’t expect to come back’. The one that ended in Zayn leaving. He’d tried calling, tried texting, but in the end he got the message, and he wasn’t going to be the pathetic ex. If Harry doesn’t want him, he’s fine with that. He just…doesn’t delete the number. he can’t bring himself too. So he changes the name so he remembers, and then tries to get on with his life, and not think about how Harry isn’t calling. 
  * It’s a year later that Zayn sends the text. He’s drunk and stupid and he hasn’t been pining for Harry, not really, he just–misses him. Misses his cold feet in bed and his bad jokes and his massive hands and how he’d listen to Zayn like no one else ever had. Missed even how he had yelled at Zayn, his stupid passive aggressiveness, how he’d clung too tight sometimes so Zayn wanted to push away just to get some space. So yeah, he was drunk and saw the meme and knew Harry would like it and then he sent the text. He’s weak. He just sent it, and then preceded to get so drunk he couldn’t stand up and had to be poured into bed. 
  * Harry gets the text when he wakes up, and almost calls in sick to work. It’s been a year. A year of no Zayn in the flat they’d shared once, no Zayn wandering around shirtless and wrapping himself around Harry when he was cooking to bother him, no curling up with Zayn on the couch. A year of being sure Zayn hated him, because he’d just–he’d stopped. He’d called, he’d texted, but Harry had been mad then, furious he’d leave Harry behind. Then he stopped, and Harry stopped being mad, and he just started missing him. And now there’s a text, and Harry opens the video and covers his mouth as he starts to laugh or maybe cry, because of course Zayn still gets his sense of humor like no one else does. 
  * _Hah!_ , Harry sends back, after an hour of trying to compose the perfect text that doesn’t give away how fast his heart is beating at even the thought of Zayn still thinking about him, but also shows he’s not cutting off ties. It’s the second part that makes him send the next text, hard on the heels of the first– _how are you? Doing well in New York?_  He doesn’t expect Zayn to respond, mostly because he expects Zayn’s still mad, but also because he knows Zayn and texting. But he does. 
  * It’s surprisingly easy. Zayn’s notoriously bad at texting, but he’s always wanted to talk to Harry. Or text, because they’re very clearly keeping it at that level. They’re just two old friends texting. That’s all. Even if Harry mentions, casually, that he’s going to die alone with his cat, so Zayn knows he’s single; even if Zayn mentions how he’s got to go out on this date his friend set him up on, and most people might not be able to tell Harry’s being jealous, but Zayn remembers his jealousy, how it sounded. Even if they’re texting every day now, and it’s almost like–well, before. Zayn’s just never been able to resist falling into Harry. It’s not like anything can happen; Zayn’s work is in New York and Harry’s is in London, and Zayn’s–he misses Harry like an hole in his heart, but he loves New York and what he’s doing. So they’re friends. Texting. Just friends. 
  * Harry knows they’re just friends. But he also knows that he hasn’t been happy since Zayn left. Knows that Zayn shouldn’t have left like that, that he’d made decisions without consulting Harry and had abandoned him a little and that maybe he should have tried harder to get Harry back, but Harry had given the ultimatum and Harry had refused to bend, refused to listen. And he knows that he cannot hear about Zayn going on a date with someone else. His heart will break into a million pieces if he does. And he knows what’s important to him, in the end. So he makes his calls, talks to his boss, and buys a flight. 
  * Zayn’s sure he’s hallucinating, when he comes home and finds a familiar figure on his doorstep. It’s been over a year and his heart still goes too fast at the sight of Harry, just as gorgeous as he ever was. “I’m here.” Harry says, before Zayn can speak. he’s holding his hands open in front of him. Zayn still can’t believe his eyes. It’s Harry. he’s hearing Harry’s voice and seeing Harry’s face and he would pinch himself if the cold bite of the New York winter didn’t assure him he was awake. “If you’ll still have me, I’m–we fucked up, we both fucked up, but the most important thing is I still love you, and I was stupid to be so stubborn. I’ve talked to enough people, and I–I’m here. If you’ll have me.” He bites at his lip, fiddles with a bit of his hair that’s fallen out of his hat. “If you still love me.” 
  * There’s still a year to fill in. Still time that they lost, and things to figure out, and the resonances of The Fight to follow through. But there’s Harry’s cold feet tucked under Zayn’s legs, and Zayn leaning over Harry watching him cook, and Harry stroking Zayn’s hair as he talks about work. And that’s enough for them, for now. 
  * Harry’s name is back to Harry in Zayn’s phone. It has a few more emticons now. 




	87. Chapter 87

_**Prompt: one of those dystopian verses that are so popular right now** _

1) Harry is chosen young, to be in Group A. It means he’s part of the group that runs the media, that keeps the networks going, communications running. He likes it. He doesn’t know anything else, of course, but he lives comfortably and his job is to make people happy, which is what he wants. He likes to keep people happy. It’s an ideal world for him. 

2) Zayn is chosen late, almost sixteen. It means he stays with his parents longer than most, means he sees not only his older sister chosen–for Group D, Medicine–but also his little sister. He sees his sisters’ tears as they go, sees his parents stoney faces. It makes him wander, outside of bounds, slipping in and out of the fences. It makes him angry. That, and the niggling jealousy and fear, that he’ll never be chosen, that he’ll become one of those purposeless people who are taken to the homes on their seventeenth birthdays. But he is chosen at last, to go into Group A. Zayn wonders, idly, if it has something to do with how his face has changed in the last few years, how now other children sometimes blush when they look at him. 

3) Harry notices the new Chosen in Group A mainly because he’s so old, older than Harry, even though he’s only in Stage 1 of training. He doesn’t look happy–not to be there, not with anything he’s being trained in, and Harry doesn’t blame him. Harry wouldn’t have liked to be chosen so late either. And he wouldn’t like to be grouped with all the children. So when the time comes to pick a trainee, Harry picks him, because he’d like him to be happy here too. 

4) Zayn has no patience for any of it. He tries to hide it, but he can see Harry can tell, can read the worried looks his Brother shoots him whenever he doesn’t react like he should to their happy videos of the Choosing. Don’t they know, though? Don’t they know that there’s a world out there beyond their Group compound? That their families are still out there, crying for the children they lost? Harry clearly doesn’t; he’s happy here, shows Zayn around brightly, friendly with everyone. He’s working on morale, he tells Zayn, but Zayn could be in anything, even systems, if he wanted to, though it would be a waste of his face. Zayn doesn’t want any of it. He wants to go home. 

5) Zayn wanders here, too. There are cameras, but no rules saying the Chosen have to stay in bed, or at least not the older ones, and Zayn can disable the cameras anyway, learned to do that years ago to get around the fences. The compound is big, and parts of it are older than Zayn can imagine. It’s in one of those older places, beyond a crumbling wall, that he finds the book. He’s heard of them before, but he’s never seen one; he has to read it. And in reading, see–see how much more there is. How much bigger the world is than even he knew. How much he hasn’t been allowed to choose. He wants to choose. He will choose. 

6) Harry watches, as Zayn seems to become more distracted and more focused all at once. He seems ready to learn everything immediately, and Harry can’t help but teach him. He seems happier like this, and Harry likes it when Zayn’s happy–likes it when anyone’s happy, but especially Zayn, whose hard-won smiles make his face glow and Harry’s stomach flip over, who sometimes catches Harry when he stumbles like he doesn’t even think about it, which makes Harry’s stomach flip over too. He’ll teach Zayn everything he knows, if it’ll keep Zayn happy. 

7) Zayn likes Harry. It’d be impossible not to. He likes him, but he doesn’t trust him–not like he trusts the other people he’s found through his secret signals mixed into the systems code, the ones who want to choose too. The ones who have hatched their plan, for Zayn to spread his word out through the communications arrays–to tell everyone what happens to the Unchosen. To the Unchosen, and those who make their own choices. Harry doesn’t want to make his own choices, Zayn can tell, but–but he loves Harry’s laughter, and how he smiles. How he comforted Zayn when homesickness hit, even though he can barely remember his parents. How he looks at Zayn sometimes, steals glances at him like he thinks Zayn isn’t watching, then smirks when Zayn catches him. He likes Harry so much–if only he thought he’d make the right choice. 

8) In the end there are guards beating down the door to the systems room, and Harry staring at Zayn, astonished and near to tears, as Zayn glances between the door, Harry, and the passage that leads to the bunkers where Zayn will be safe. “Do you want to choose, Harry?” Zayn asks, and there are tears in his eyes, tears he didn’t shed on screen. “You can choose. Come with me.” 

“I–I can’t,” Harry stammers, and Zayn shakes his head. 

“You can.” 

Harry just wants everyone to be happy. He wants to be happy. And his world is shattering around him, with Zayn holding out his hand like a safety net. A safety net like the one Harry’s lived in his whole life, apparently. He takes one step forward, grabs Zayn, and kisses him like he’s wanted to for years. “Go,” he says, and Zayn gives him a look that Harry can’t read and disappears. Harry takes a breath, then turns to where the guards are stumbling in. “He went up to the roof!” Harry cries, pointing up and cradling his face, “He hit me!” A guard scoffs, but they go up. Harry smiles to himself. It feels good to choose, and he chooses to believe he’ll see Zayn again. 


	88. Chapter 88

_**Prompt: plane crash, deserted island, Zayn and Harry are two of the like 20-ish others surviving and waiting to be found - they fall in love, even though one of them didn't know they liked guys before that.** _

1) Zayn can’t sleep for weeks, after the crash. It’s funny because before the crash he could sleep anywhere, any time, but now he can’t sleep. It’s not that he can’t get comfortable. But he had been asleep when the plane crashed, and now whenever he closes his eyes he jolts awake, terrified that the plane is still crashing, that they’re still falling, falling, falling. 

2) Harry decides his job is going to be morale. He knows he has to do something or he’ll go insane, and he also knows this is not the time to pretend he can be particularly handy. He’s not, and he’s not wasting the supplies they’ve found trying, so he decides he’s there for morale. He flirts with the women, tells the men bad jokes until they laugh, lead the three children in games while the adults work. It’s while he’s doing that that he notices one of the kids has latched onto an adult, one of the younger men. 

3) Zayn didn’t mean to adopt a kid. He didn’t try to. He knows he’s fucked up, knows his nightmares aren’t subsiding, knows he barely believes they’re ever going to be rescued. But he also knows he never stood a chance against the boy, Bobby, who’d been sobbing for his parents and his teddy bear. He’d had to cuddle him close, try to comfort him as best he could. Bobby’d imprinted then, he thinks. Or something. And it helps, maybe, to have someone depending on him. He can stay sane for him. 

4) Harry watches Zayn–a grad student, he’s learned, because by now they’ve all learned the basic facts about each other in some fucked up sort of orientation–and Bobby. It helps, somehow. Helps keep his own morale up, watching them. Enough that, after a while, he finds some scraps of material and grass and manages enough of a teddy bear to give to Bobby, who gives him a gap-toothed grin back. “Thanks,” Zayn tells him for the boy, and his smile isn’t gap toothed at all. 

5) Zayn’s noticed Harry watching him. He’s noticed Harry in general, because he’s hot and has been being loud and friendly and spirited in a way Zayn would probably be annoyed at some other time, but now he appreciates. And he’s noticed how Harry watches him and Bobby. In another life, Zayn would call it interest, would maybe go over to flirt with him. But now it feels so unimportant. Now, he can’t tell if it is interest or just a desire for normalcy. 

6) Harry doesn’t know where this is coming from, this fascination with Zayn. It’s nothing he’s felt for a guy before. Or maybe it’s that there’s no one else here to feel it for, except there are, there are plenty of others, but it’s Zayn he can’t look away from. Zayn who he had to look away from, when he’d stripped off his shirt in the heat as he was helping build their shelter. Zayn, who he sees thrash with nightmares, then get up and wander down to the beach, leaving Bobby sleeping, to stare out at the water. 

7) Zayn’s watching the water, when Harry comes up next to him. He can’t find that he’s surprised. Harry’s surprisingly good company, knows to be quiet and let Zayn think. “I can’t sleep,” he says at last, once they’ve been quiet for a while. “Nightmares. I keep thinking we’re crashing.” Harry just nods. “Then we won’t sleep.” Zayn wakes up the next morning against Harry’s chest, and it’s the most he’s slept in weeks. 

8) It happens so gradually Harry doesn’t have time to freak out about it. Or maybe the freak out just doesn’t seem to matter, when they don’t ever know if they’ll survive another day, if rescue will come. But if Zayn sleeps better when he’s cuddled with Harry, Harry will cuddle him, reaching around to Bobby on Zayn’s other side. If his antics can make Zayn laugh, he’ll banter and be silly. If being with Zayn makes him happy, he’ll be with Zayn. So it’s easy, one morning, as Zayn wakes next to Harry, blinking those big eyes, to kiss him; it’s as easy as Zayn kissing him back, sweet like nothing else is these days. 

9) Rescue comes in the form of a ship passing by, and they’re all loaded on. Harry keeps a tight hold of Zayn’s hand, who keeps a hold of Bobby’s, who’s sobbing again. “Don’t worry,” Zayn tells him, kneeling down so he can look him in the eye. “I won’t leave you, okay? We’re in this together. I’ll keep you safe.” Harry looks down at Zayn, and he doesn’t say it aloud, but he means to do the same thing. 


	89. Chapter 89

_**Prompt: A Titanic AU where Harry is Rose and Zayn is Jack - paint me like one of your French girls** _

1) The Titanic is a masterpiece, and Harry wants to stay on it forever. Not because it’s so glorious, but because he knows what happens when he gets off. Marriage, to someone he hates. Someone so odious he can’t stand her, and he’s usually a dutiful son but not in this. It’s why, he thinks, he lets Zayn and his wicked smile and kind eyes draw him away, belowdecks. Because this is his last chance, the last time he gets before the boat docks and everything changes. 

2) The Titanic is a masterpiece, and Zayn can’t wait to get off. he’s ready for the New World, to start a new life. Ready to make his fortune to send it home to his family so they can join him. Not even the fact that it’s a boat and he can’t swim can bring him down, it’s unsinkable after all. But when he sees Harry, this rich boy with his unjustly sad face that Zayn wants to paint, he thinks maybe he could have the journey last longer. He’ll take more time to make Harry laugh, like he does as they dance together belowdecks. Some more time, before they’re parted forever. 

3) Zayn’s not like anyone Harry’s ever met, with his passion and rough voice and gentle touch. He makes Harry feel alive in ways he’s never felt before, in a way Harry knows the name of. Like he knows the name of the fire he feels in him when he pages through Zayn’s sketchbook, sees the girls there, spread out naked on couches. Jealousy. That’s what it is. Harry doesn’t like the idea of Zayn with these French girls, of other people having his attention like that. It’s why he needs to be in that book too. Needs to be there for Zayn to remember, long after they’re parted for good. 

4) Harry’s innocent in a way that scares Zayn, that makes him nervous he’s going to sully it, but when Harry asks he can’t refuse. Can’t refuse to draw him, can’t refuse when Harry pulls him into the car and closes the door. He’d give Harry the world, he thinks. Give him everything he has, but he knows it’s not enough, not when he’s got a diamond from his fiancee as big as Zayn’s fist. Not when the world thinks they’re a sin, for all Oscar Wilde’s wit. So he’ll give him now, give him everything he can, and he’ll have the picture to remember him by. 

5) The water’s so cold, and Harry can feel Zayn’s grip loosening. he doesn’t know where his parents are or anyone else, he just knows that Zayn’s falling, going to fall, and he looks so terrified–he’s afraid of water, Harry remembers, in a non sequiter way that comes with panic. “Don’t let go,” Zayn says, pleads, and Harry shakes his head. “I won’t,” he promises, and there’s a strength he doesn’t know and he pulls, and then Zayn’s next to him on the raft, shivering and his eyes flickering like he’s barely conscious. “Don’t you die,” Harry orders him, wrapping his arms around Zayn so tight like they could meld into one person. “Don’t you die, darling, we’ve got so much more to do, I can’t lose you…” 

6) Zayn’s waiting on the shore, when the boat that took them out to the old Titanic wreck returns. He’s old now, but still handsome. The world has changed enough that he can rest his hand on Harry’s hand now, can hug him tight, and they don’t get second looks. “Did you do it?” he asks, in that same voice Harry’s heard for the past 50 years–the voice that held him through the nightmares, that made the art that hangs in their house now, that has said ‘i love you’ more times than Harry can count. “Yes,” Harry tells him. “Now let’s go home.” 


	90. Chapter 90

_**Prompt: Historical AU** _

  * They meet at Oxford, in 1913. It is as much love at first sight as it can be, when they’re two men; when Zayn is noticeably foreign. But Harry thinks he falls in love with him as he talks about what he’s reading for his Literature degree; thinks he could lie on the bed in Zayn’s little dorm room all day and listen to the words drip out of his mouth, watch his lips move. Knowing that probably the ache to touch those lips, to trace his fingers over every bit of golden skin revealed when he gets a bit drunk and his shirt gets unbuttoned, is probably unrequited and will never be fulfilled is a pain he can live with. He’ll survive on just watching and wanting and listening to Zayn spin his stories, do his art, create something out of nothing like magic. 
  * Zayn doesn’t know what hits him, when Harry Styles–who’s third in line for an Earldom, whose family goes back to the conquest–decides to be his friend. He’d known who Styles was, had seen him about with his scads of friends, had watched him laugh in the sunlight with the his hair shimmering and his green eyes alight,  but he’d never thought to be one of those friends. He’s been an outsider his whole life; he only expects to get his degree and make his family proud at Oxford. He doesn’t expect to make friends. He doesn’t expect Styles to become Harry, to sit in his room and complain about his tutorials and how his mother has been complaining to him about her trouble with the help like he can do something about it from here, to turn from the golden boy into a friend. 
  * It’s tentative, how they come together in the spring of 1914. Tentative and fleeting, until Zayn finally finds the courage in the darkness of his room one night to touch his hand to Harry’s cheek, and turn his face to Zayn’s. In the shadows, Harry’s face is all angles, the strong jaw, the slightly open mouth, the furrowed brow. “Zayn?” Harry asks, but there isn’t disgust there, no turning aside. So Zayn kisses him once, on the lips, a declaration, and waits for Harry to denounce him, to declare him a pervert and unnatural, to shun him again. But instead Harry just breathes out against his lips, a gasping ‘Finally”, and kisses him back, harder. 
  * The summer is golden. On the continent, things are happening, and Ireland is getting worrisome, but to Harry and Zayn it is all gold and each other and love, exploring each other’s bodies in their rooms, on fields when they can borrow a motorcar and drive out, away from prying eyes. Zayn writes poetry on Harry’s skin and makes art out of his eyes, and Harry holds his hand and murmurs endearments to drive away anything else their schoolmates say. 
  * When the expeditionary force is declared, Zayn volunteers. Harry almost cries when Zayn tells him, grabs at his shoulders and tries not to beg him not to go. Not his Zayn, who is made for art, not war. “I have to fight,” Zayn says, though, and Harry has seen glimpses of this man, the one with the glinting eyes and clenched fists. “I will not be called a coward and left behind.” “Like I am?” Harry asks, looking down. Then Zayn’s hands are on his face again, drawing him up to look at Zayn, as he had that first night. “You have nothing to prove. I’ll come back to you. I promise,” he ends, and then he’s gone. 
  * Harry holds tight to that promise, as news of the war gets darker. Zayn bought a commission, Harry thinks, so that’s better than it could be otherwise; he’s an officer, maybe he won’t be in the front lines. Zayn writes him letters, sometimes, but he can’t write as often as another man might write his sweetheart, though the poems he encloses makes Harry want to weep. But the casualty lists keep growing, and Harry joins the crowds to check them each day. Payne is the first of his friends’ names he sees on the list. Tomlinson is listed as missing, which he knows by now not to hope for. They had volunteered with Zayn, had left on the train together. Now they’re dead. And Harry only has Zayn’s letters to hold as proof Zayn hasn’t followed. 
  * Harry is drafted in 1916. Zayn gets leave right before Harry is due to go to training, and he takes a day from his family to meet Harry in London. He’s different–Harry can’t articulate the difference, but he’s harder, his face drawn. He doesn’t talk about the war at all, about the fighting. He holds Harry too tight at the hotel that night. The only time Zayn breaks down is when Harry tells him he’s been drafted, that he’s going to training. “No,” Zayn says, his eyes widening. “No, not you, you shouldn’t have to fight!” And now it’s Harry’s hands on Zayn’s cheeks, drawing his face up to Harry’s. “I’ll come back to you,” he swears. He doesn’t know if he can keep his promise; doesn’t know if Zayn can keep his. But he needs to say it. Needs Zayn to know that he will come back to him, in this lifetime or the next. 
  * The war is worse than anything Harry could imagine. 
  * Somehow, miraculously, Harry survives. 
  * Harry returns home in 1918. He is whole, though he shakes sometimes, though he doesn’t think he’ll ever be rid of the nightmares. Maybe he was born under a lucky star, as his mother once said. Slowly, news comes back to him of others–Horan lost an arm, but he’s alive. Corden is in a sanitarium in the north, apparently talking to Sassoon. Grimshaw lost a leg but not his humor. But there is no word of Zayn. And too often, no word is a bad omen. 
  * It is February, when he’s recovered enough to travel, that Harry goes north. He’s never been to Zayn’s home, but Zayn has spoken of it enough that finding the Malik’s house is simple. It’s modest, much smaller than Harry’s family townhouse, but Harry drinks in the sight of it. If the news he hears here is bad, he will have this part of Zayn at least. The woman who opens the door is instantly recognizable as Zayn’s mother–they must have lost the maid, or perhaps they never had one. Harry smiles at her for the resemblance, if nothing else. “Hello,” he says, taking off his hat. “I’m Harry Styles, I’m a friend of Zayn’s. I–” “Harry?” a voice comes from above him, and Harry’s heart leaps as he looks up to see Zayn standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at Harry. 
  * Zayn’s weak–the flu, his mother explains, as she shows Harry to the drawing room while one of Zayn’s sisters assists Zayn. He’d contracted it right after he got back from the Front. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, that there is a reason Zayn hadn’t written Harry. but when Zayn is settled next to him, Harry wonders if there might be more. Zayn is gaunt, thin even for him, and a scar slashes across his face from his eye to his lip, messily sewn. But he is still Zayn, still the most beautiful man Harry’s ever seen, and Harry cannot do more than stare, when Zayn’s family leaves them alone. Zayn is doing the same, it seems, staring at Harry like a starving man might look at food, like a religious man might look at God. “You didn’t write,” Harry says at last. Zayn blinks, long and slow, and his face contracts. “Would you want me to have done?” Before Harry can answer, he gestures at his face. “Looking as I do?” And Harry could laugh, or cry, but he grabs Zayn’s face, and brings his lips to Zayn’s scar, kissing it gently. “Do you doubt my love so?” he asks, and Zayn opens his mouth, but Harry covers it with his lips, to kiss away any doubts.
  * Oxford is different, these many years later, as Harry comes down to visit Zayn. But the room is the same, and Zayn may be different, but Harry can still watch him forever, reading his poetry as Harry strokes his fingers over his face, tracing his skin and his scar. The world has changed, and it is not the golden summer of 1914. There are so many places that can never be filled. But as Harry leans down to kiss Zayn, he thinks whatever terrible  God that inflicted this war on them for giving him this one mercy. For letting him keep this, for as long as he might live. 




	91. Chapter 91

_**The One Where...** _

Zayn and Harry are good friends looking to move to some place where apartments are really expensive (NYC, London, whatever), and decide, because everywhere they’re looking is way too expensive, that the only way they’ll be able to afford it is if they get a one bedroom and just share a bed. They do it all the time anyway when one of them is too drunk to get back to their dorm or they’re lazy or fall asleep cuddling, they figure, and it makes economic sense, and if one of them wants to pull the other can sleep on the couch that night, no big deal. Cue all your usual bed-sharing tropes: accidental morning boners, cuddling, all that. Both of them are too busy to pull for a while, so Harry sort of forgets that that’s a thing they can do, that they aren’t actually doing more than sleeping together, so the first time Zayn brings someone back he has a minor freak out and changes the sheets like three times and lights a million candles because he doesn’t want their bed smelling like someone else. Zayn starts finding that on nights when Harry doesn’t make it home–crashing with someone else or having pulled and going to theirs–he can’t sleep, because there’s no Harry to hold onto, no snores to lull him to sleep, no mouthful of hair to wake up to. Much pining! Much cuddling! Much domesticity! Harry probably goes to Niall at one point and confesses he thinks he’s in love with Zayn, and Niall’s like, well yeah duh, you don’t decide to share a bed with someone you aren’t in love with. Harry can’t protest. 

It all ends in happily ever after and a lot of sleepy wake up sex. 


	92. Chapter 92

_**Prompt: 27 Dresses AU** _

  1. Zayn’s always been good at taking care of people. He calms nerves, makes jokes when they’re necessary, gives, according to Liam, the best hugs ever. And he’s a romantic, sue him. So he’s really great at being best man. He talks grooms out of running away, comforts crying maid of honors who are bitter about the white dresses their best friends are wearing, makes sure the catering goes smoothly with a bit of an intimidating glare. He likes it, really. He loves weddings, loves the love. And if he wishes it’d be him and Liam up there someday, well, that’s neither here nor there. Liam’s mostly straight, and that–Zayn’s fine with that. 
  2. Harry likes weddings, secretly. Oh, he’ll bitch and moan about how he’s a better photographer than this, should be used on more challenging things than weddings, because that’s true too. But in his heart of hearts, he does like weddings, and his breath catches every time the groom looks at the bride. He just thinks that marriage itself is maybe overrated. Or maybe, that he’ll never be able to fall in love. He prefers to think it’s the former than the latter. 
  3. When Liam falls for Waliyha, Zayn is _fine_. Totally fine. It doesn’t matter that everyone says they look so alike they could be gender-swapped versions of each other, or that Wali’s a little too young and busy with work to plan everything, so he ends up doing most of it with Liam, which feels more like just them hanging out, like always. And it really doesn’t matter that the irritating, irritatingly good-looking photographer Wali hired is always hanging around, making bad jokes and telling stories that shouldn’t be as funny as they are and _looking_  at Zayn like he sees through him. That really doesn’t matter at all. 
  4. Zayn is a contradiction, Harry thinks. That’s really what fascinates him about the brother of the bride/best friend. This breathtakingly gorgeous man who’s still single, with his tattoos and earrings and quiet surety who legitimately tears up when he sees his sister in a dress and looks at the groom with heartbreakingly heartbroken eyes. and the camera loves him. It loves his sister too, but somehow, when Harry goes home at the end of the day, every time, it’s Zayn in most of the photos, staring back at him. 
  5. It’s not that Zayn means to spill his guts to Harry. He’s just a chatter drunk, always has been, and fuck, his little sister’s getting married to the man he’s been in love with for years and Harry’s there looking at him so intently, like he sees him, which it feels like no one has in years. Or people see him, Zayn knows how people look at him, but they don’t _see_ him. Not like Harry does. So he tells him, and Harry laughs at him and gets him drunker, and when Zayn wakes up in the car with no pants on and Harry grinning at him, he really can’t even be surprised. Horrified, a bit. But not surprised. What he is surprised about is the spread on the paper that morning, always a groomsman over his face, over so many pictures of his face. That he can’t stand. He thought Harry’d seen him, but that was a lie too. 
  6. Harry legitimately thought he’d never see Zayn again. it was like a knife in his throat, the thought of that, of never seeing him laugh or make that adorably disgusted face or anything again, but he fucked up, like always. this is why marriage isn’t it for him, because he always does something like this. And when he hears the wedding’s called off, well, somehow he knows what that means. Liam will be good for Zayn. Better than harry. So when he sees Zayn at the front of that stage, telling Harry how he’d seen him when no one else did, Harry tears up a bit too, and he doesn’t care if Zayn makes fun of him for it. 
  7. They both cry at their wedding. 




	93. Chapter 93

_**Prompt: Christmas au! Their first Christmas together as an official couple** _

  1. They spend it at Harry’s. Christmas isn’t as much of a deal for the Malik’s, so it’s an easy compromise. It’s a bit weird for Zayn–Harry’s house is so quiet compared to his, so many fewer people–but it’s nice. To see this part of Harry too. 
  2. Harry forces Zayn into a lot of ugly christmas sweaters, then pouts because somehow Zayn pulls them off, and it’s not fair. He decides the only solution to this is for neither of them to be wearing sweaters at all, or shirts for that matter. Zayn does not object. 
  3. They spend Christmas eve curled up together on the couch in front of the fire under one blanket, long after everyone else has gone to bed. They don’t talk much, just lie there, Zayn’s fingers combing through Harry’s hair, Harry’s hand heavy on Zayn’s thigh, and watch the fire play against the ornaments on the tree, until they get so tired they’re barely able to move, and shuffle upstairs together. 
  4. Harry wakes up first, in the morning. There are no kids, so they all sleep in a bit, and he can watch Zayn sleep, in his bed, his cheeks flushed with sleep. There are no kids now, but Harry can imagine doing this for years, waking up Christmas morning with kids bouncing on them, Harry getting up first because Zayn certainly won’t. It’s not the first time he’s imagined their kids, but he loves the picture of it, and he loves it more when Zayn’s eyes open and he smiles to see Harry looking. 
  5. Zayn goes all out on presents. He loves spoiling Harry, and Harry loves to be spoiled, and it’s not like either of them are hurting for money. So there are designer scarves and a new camera and some records, and of course all sorts of things for Harry’s family. But Harry’s favorite is the painting he’d done himself, of the two of them. Zayn knows it’s not the best, and tells Harry so, but Harry just beams up at Zayn and kisses him hard, because it means more than anything else in the pile. 
  6. Zayn, however, is distracted, because Harry knew what Zayn wanted, and so among the new art supplies and some designer clothes of his own and comic books is a brand new puppy, wagging it’s tail up at Zayn. Harry thinks honestly, he wouldn’t need anything more for his Christmas than the sight of Zayn cuddling the puppy on his lap, talking excitedly to Harry about what they’ll name it, what they’ll buy it, because it’s a commitment to them together forever, and that’s what he wants most.




	94. Chapter 94

_**Prompt: Robot AU** _

  1. Zayn knows he isn’t human. He’s not skin and bones, he’s metal and polymers meant to feel like human. He’s circuits, he’s electricity. He acts human, he can think and function, but he isn’t human. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like, to be human. If it would feel different. If the emotions he feels really aren’t the same. 
  2. Harry knows he’s a robot right off, of course. No human could actually look that good, and for a while it was all the rage to make the bots look as decorative as they could. Whoever made this one is an artist, really, harry thinks. So yeah, he knows he’s a robot, when he sees him in the art gallery, staring at the painting. But he doesn’t see why that means he shouldn’t treat him the same. Harry’s no bigot. And robots have emotions too. 
  3. Zayn’s not sure what to make of Harry, when the tentative conversation they have at the gallery somehow leads to friendship. Robots and humans can be friends, of course, that’s been documented; Zayn’s made to as closely replicate a human as possible, so he has all the right impulses. But he doesn’t know why Harry would want to befriend him, when there are so many humans he could befriend. 
  4. It takes Harry very little time with Zayn to shed any lingering mechanist prejudices he once had. He’s never met anyone as human as Zayn, who makes jokes with his little sheepish smiles and touches children so gently and looks at art with such yearning Harry hurts. He’s the best friend Harry’s ever had, and he’ll insist that to anyone who asks. That’s not the problem. 
  5. The problem is the first time Zayn smiles at Harry and Harry’s stomach flips. The problem is when Zayn’s laugh becomes the thing Harry most wants to hear. The problem is when Harry’s jacking off and unbidden, he pictures Zayn as he comes. He doesn’t even know if Zayn can feel that sort of thing–he has emotions, but arousal? He’s not sure if the programming’s there, and even if it was, there are legal ramifications and, most importantly, Zayn’s never seemed to show the same emotion back at him. 
  6. Zayn’s not sure what this thing is he feels, when harry leans in, muttering about how maybe this is weird and if he’s doing something wrong stop him, when Harry presses his lips against Zayn’s. It’s warmth, and heat, and like something’s malfunctioning but not, like when he looks at artwork and thinks he almost understands. It can’t be love, because he’s not human, he can’t love. But he thinks–he hopes–it might be the closest he can get. 




	95. Chapter 95

_**Because I’d been watching too much HGTV:** _

Niall and Harry are the contractor/designer partners who have a reality TV show where they help people buy fixer-uppers and then renovate them while being adorable and weird (a la the Property Brothers minus the brothers bit), and Zayn is the single father who’s the client on their latest rehab? (Louis is the cameraman. Liam is Zayn’s best friend who goes on tours with him). And Harry is utterly fine with the fact that this new client is the mot attractive man he’s ever seen. With an adorable daughter he’s adorable with. Who has good design ideas and is a total nerd and also once catches Harry before he almost falls. He is totally okay with this, he’ll just make Zayn and his daughter the best house they’ve ever had and then be on his way, like he always is. (Niall laughs when Harry tells him this. “Sure, you give all your clients custom comics racks?” he asks, which Harry scoffs at because of course he does.) Meanwhile Louis is running around trying to catch this romance on camera because it will make their ratings soar, and so there are a lot of shots of Zayn and Harry leaning over a design together, their shoulders brushing, or of them talking and Harry’s laughing and Zayn’s beaming at him, or when Harry shows him the plans for his daughter’s new room and Zayn’s got a hand over his mouth like he’s about to cry and Harry’s never looked so proud. Harry also wears a lot tighter shirts that rehab, for no reason at all definitely. 

Then finally the rehab’s over and they do the final showing of the house and Zayn’s glowing because it’s exactly what he wanted and a new home for him and his son to start over on and Harry can’t take his eyes off Zayn, and Niall can’t stop laughing at them. They’re about to go when Zayn stops Harry with a hand on his arm. “Um, you want to stay for dinner?” he asks, with a smile that’s not quite shy. “Help break in the kitchen?” 

“Do you want to stay forever?” Niall mutters, in a decent impression of Mulan. Louis’s laughter is clear on the tape. 

Harry does, in fact, end up staying forever. 


	96. Chapter 96

_**Prompt: "Please pretend to be my boyfriend for this hs reunion" AU** _

  1. The thing is, Harry can’t be single for his high school reunion. It’s not a ‘proving how much more cool he’s gotten since then’ thing, no matter what people tease–it’s the fact that some of the women have been making very aggressive hints at him over facebook, and Harry really doesn’t want anything to be awkward when he’s there. And fine, maybe he sort of wants to prove that he’s still Harry Styles, still just as cool as he was back then. 
  2. Zayn is the perfect answer. He’s gorgeous enough to prove to everyone Harry’s still got it, he’s a good friend so it’ll be fun, and best yet, he’s generally susceptible to Harry’s puppy dog eyes and is easy to convince. So that’s that. And there is absolutely 0 wish fulfillment in how Harry grabs at Zayn’s hand as they enter the gym, in how he tugs Zayn close. Really. Zero. 
  3. It’s weird, for Zayn. Zayn wasn’t a popular kid in high school, hadn’t bothered going to his own reunion last year, so it’s weird, to experience this from Harry’s point of view, to see everyone vying for his attention. Maybe there is a little bit of wish fulfillment there, of seeing what it would be like to go out with the most popular kid in school. but it’s hard to think about that when it’s Harry, weird, wonderful, Harry, introducing him to everyone and dragging Zayn around to see all his old haunts. It’s just Harry, and maybe it shouldn’t be this natural to act like his boyfriend, but they’ve always been close. 
  4. Zayn is perfect. Too perfect, and Harry realizes that when Jack Robinson swoops in, starts batting his eyelashes at him like he doesn’t even realize Harry’s across the room getting him punch, just like he did when he stole his girlfriend. Harry’s over that, really, and it’s just because he’s a good pretend boyfriend that he plants a quick kiss on Zayn’s lips when he goes back over. And the only reason his hand’s somehow in Zayn’s back pocket after that, because Zayn’s here with him. 
  5. They kiss under the flashing lights of the disco ball, as cliche as can be, and Zayn laughs into Harry’s mouth because it is such a stereotype, and because he never really did this back in high school, and because it’s Harry but that just seems to make it better. Harry decides that if Zayn hasn’t made out on the dance floor in high school, he probably never got off in the locker rooms, and really, that’s a shame that should be fixed. 
  6. Harry’s crowned king of the reunion. As soon as he gets off stage after his drawling speech, he puts the crown on Zayn’s head, and laughs as it tips over one ear. Zayn makes a face, gives it back. harry decides to keep it. He can see how far Zayn will let him take this whole ‘being king and giving orders thing’.




	97. Chapter 97

_**Prompt: Zayn gets bad news about a family member and doesn't know how to handle his emotions AU** _

  1. Zayn shuts down. it’s what he always does when hit with bad news all at once, so Harry knows as soon as he sees his face that whatever happened, it’s bad–as bad as his grandfather, as his aunt. So it’s instinct, really, that makes Harry hurry so he’s behind him, to hug him close into his chest before anyone else can. Zayn goes, but he’s almost limp. Like he’s lost control of his body. 
  2. Zayn’s not incompetent. He can hear everyone talking over him, figuring out how to get him home, what to do. He should be contributing to that. Should be thinking about logistics. But he just–he can’t, every time he tries to think about something the fact that it’s real comes crashing back on him, and all he can do is cuddle into Harry’s chest, let Harry hold him there and feel his lips brush gently against his skin. 
  3. Harry’s an awful person. he knows he is, because something horrible’s happened and Zayn’s in shock, but–but he can’t help how there’s a part of him that likes this. Likes Zayn leaning on him, likes how Zayn’s face in open and vulnerable for Harry, likes how he’s letting Harry take care of him for once, making sure he has food, cuddling with him as he sleeps. Usually, Zayn’s so whole in himself, so sure, that Harry feels like Zayn must see him as a little brother or something, someone to coddle, which is not at all what Harry would like. So knowing Zayn needs him, it feels good, and Harry hates it and loves it all the same. 
  4. He almost kisses Zayn, the night before he leaves to go home. Almost kisses him, because his cheeks are stained with tears and he looks exhausted, like he needs Harry to gently take him apart until he’s too worn out to do anything but sleep. But Harry wants this too much for that to happen, so just brushes the tears away from his cheeks with his thumb, and mumbles nonsense in Zayn’s ear until he sleeps. 
  5. Zayn’s in a daze the whole time he’s in Bradford. It’s not until he’s on the plane back that he thinks about it, thinks about how Harry’d switched roles on him, how he’d taken care of him. How nice it had been, to let him do that, for once. How well Harry had done it. How he wouldn’t mind letting Harry take care of him more. 
  6. It happens when Zayn gets back, in the hotel room that night, after Zayn kisses Harry slow and sure, and Harry asks a thousand times if he’s certain, because his heart won’t take it otherwise. Zayn just nods, and kisses Harry again, to show his gratitude, how much he wants this, and Harry can finally do what he’s been wanting to since what feels like forever, and take care of Zayn, inch of skin by inch of skin. 




	98. Chapter 98

_**Prompt: Zarry seeing each other at some resort after 20 years of not seeing/talking to each other** _

  1. Zayn looks good. it’s a stupid thought to have, because Zayn always looks good, and Harry’s seen Yasser, he knew Zayn would age well. But still, seeing Zayn across the lobby, it’s all he can think. He’s filled out some, no longer lanky with youth, but it suits him, and the grey in his hair and stubble just make him look distinguished. Harry knows he looks good still too, has worked hard for that, but still, looking at Zayn, somehow it feels like he’s twenty again and all he can think is, “He’s just pretty, isn’t he?”
  2. Zayn doesn’t expect Harry to talk to him, when he spots him out of the corner of his eye. There wasn’t official bad blood between him and the boys when he left, but he’d gotten the message pretty quickly, given Liam’s the only one of them he’s seen since then. No matter that he still keeps up with their press, that he sent flowers when Niall’s aunt passed, that after he and Perrie’s marriage had broken up ten years ago he’d left a drunken, tearful message on Louis’s phone because somehow he was the person he needed. He got the message. It was the price he paid, leaving how he did, when he did, and he–he can’t blame them, really. So he knows his smile is stupid, huge and incredulous probably, when there’s a tap on his shoulder and a low, raspy voice saying, “Hey, Zayn,” in his ear, because maybe, just maybe, he won’t have to wait more than twenty years to get his boys back. 
  3. It’s easy to fall back into the same patterns with Zayn. They’ve changed, of course, both of them, but not at the heart of it. So it’s easy to lounge by the pool together, to laugh and chat and catch up. To get sucked in by Zayn’s smile, but his laugh, by the way he still touches Harry, always a combination of gentle and sure that Harry’s never been able to stand against. Really, he doesn’t stand a chance against it. And Zayn’s so…solicitous, anxious to please, to impress, in a way Harry’s never seen him. It’s gratifying, after years when they were kids feeling like he was chasing after Zayn. Harry’s too selfish to say no. 
  4. It comes to a head when Harry gets a call from Louis, and the look on Zayn’s face when Harry gets up to leave the room to take it is so complex and painful and hurt that Harry has to ask about it. Then it’s all old hurt, old grudges, yelling and shouting and the thing they never got a chance to do when they were twenty. But it’s also listening, really listening, to each other, in a way they weren’t ready to do, not then. 
  5. They’re not the same people they were then. Things have changed. Some of that’s for the worst, in the old ghosts, in the mistakes and missteps they’ve both made. But, Zayn knows, circumstances are different now too, lining up in a way he and harry never quite could when they were kids. they’re both single, for one. And the world isn’t watching, not anymore, not as much. This time–this time, maybe there’s a chance for them. 
  6. Zayn still touches Harry like he’s afraid if he makes the wrong move he’ll disappear again, even though Harry is very much not fragile anymore, unless you count how he’s not as limber as he was when he was twenty. Oh well, Harry thinks, grabbing Zayn’s hand, holding it tight. He can convince him otherwise. 




	99. Chapter 99

_**Prompt: detective / magician thief meeting in a heist au** _

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Zayn levels his gun at the perpetrator, who raises his hands as he’s told, though he keeps the bags in his hand. Zayn’s been chasing this thief for weeks, but seeing him in person is still a shock, as he turns around–the cherub’s face, the broad shoulders. He hadn’t expected him to be so attractive. 

“Oh, you’re pretty. I didn’t know you were pretty,” the thief giggles, and he has dimples. Zayn’s been a detective long enough to know that not all criminals look like cartoon villains, but he hasn’t met one who looks like this, not really. “And you’ve been chasing little old me?” 

Zayn’s gun doesn’t falter. “You’re under arrest.”

“As much as I’d love to get in the backseat of the car with you–” and he winks, big and cheesy, and it would be funny if not for the circumstances– “I really can’t today. Rain check?” 

Zayn takes a resolute step forward. “You have the right–”

The thief smirks, somehow knowing–then there’s a blast of smoke and sparks, and Zayn blinks, and he’s–he’s just fucking gone. Disappeared, like he dissolved into thin air. 

“What the…” Zayn trails off, when he sees a note right where the perp had been. 

_i look forward to the chase, pretty boy. maybe sometime, i’ll even let you use those handcuffs._

Zayn swears again. And if he smiles a little, no one’s there to see it. 


	100. Chapter 100

_**Zayn falling for Harry’s Fool’s Gold.** _

Maybe they were fucking around during TMH, with their wild ways and fucking groupies together and fucking each other, not able to keep their hands off each other. And then maybe it was Zayn, who falls in love the fastest, who jumps into relationships head first, who thought–maybe this could be more. Maybe this was love, how Harry’s hands felt on his, tumbling off stage to press each other into the wall and kiss each other senseless. stumbling into each other’s rooms drunk at 2 am just to talk. Maybe this is what he wants, not him and Perrie’s ‘what happens on tour stays on tour’ relationship. 

So he mentioned it to Harry, that he’s thinking of breaking up with Perrie. That maybe, if he did, they could, like put a label on this? Make it something more? 

But Harry’s Harry, footloose and wandering, and he was young still, and still wanted to see the world, to experience everything. he didn’t want to be tied down, and he loved Zayn but he wasn’t in love, or so he thought, because he couldn’t be in love, not yet. Not when there was so much more to do. So he laughed, or distracted Zayn with a kiss, and Zayn kissed back and felt his heart break.  And fine, he’d thought. Okay, if Harry doesn’t want this, if Harry’s not ready for everything Zayn wants–fine. He can live with that. So he throws himself into his relationship with Perrie, formalizes it with a ring, tries to be good. This was what he wanted, he thinks, not looking at Harry as Harry dances around stage, fooling around with Niall now that him and Zayn aren’t fucking like he’s just that replaceable, and he can live with that. His heart will heal. And if he backslides a few times, when Harry smiles at him a certain way, when he touches him, he’s trying, at least. Really, really trying. 

And so it’s not _great_  for two years, but it’s good, and then everything comes crashing down and Zayn leaves, and suddenly, Harry’s in shock. He’d always–he hadn’t assumed Zayn would be waiting for him when he was ready to settle down exactly, but, well, it was Zayn. It was him and Zayn, and they were meant for each other in the end, and he was always there, even there to touch if Harry really needed, so Harry’d just assumed the universe would make that happen. Except now Zayn’s not there. Except now he won’t be there always, and Harry’s suddenly realized that it’s not as simple as the universe throwing them together. That maybe he is in love with Zayn, maybe he has been for a while, and that now Zayn’s gone and he doesn’t know how to get him back. 

[stop here for the angst ending, continue for happy]

Then somehow Perrie leaves in a way that is completely mutual/pro-her and she gets an amazing boyfriend immediately and all that, and Harry thinks that maybe this is it, this is the universe telling him it’s time. But it’s not that easy, because Harry broke Zayn’s heart once, and then if it took three years and him leaving the band to come around, well, he’s not a fan of how that reads. So Harry woos Zayn back, and they learn together how to communicate, and deal with Zayn having left, until one day, Harry comes home from tour, to Zayn cooking in the kitchen, and Harry’s sure–he’s ready, now. Ready for this. To be tied down. To have a home to come back to. Ready for Zayn, and Zayn wanders in from the kitchen, and Harry has to kiss him then, like they haven’t since they were on tour together, and maybe Zayn can read the difference in his kiss but he doesn’t pull away. Because Harry’s ready for forever now, like he wasn’t when he was a kid, and Zayn’s ready to trust in that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked these? Want to discuss or see more as they're posted? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/) or go to the full archive at [ my drabble blog](http://stormdirection.tumblr.com/)!


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